Milton's Magistrate
by JuliaDaniels
Summary: Murder and mystery lead to mayhem in Milton. Join our favorite characters, John Thornton and Margaret Hale in this alternative telling of Gaskell's classic North and South.
1. Chapter 1

" _The police are the public and the public are the police; the police being only members of the public who are paid to give full time attention to duties which are incumbent on every citizen in the interests of community welfare and existence."_ _  
_-Sir Robert Peel

Chapter One

Dodging unopened packing crates as she entered the drawing room of their new home in the Crampton Precinct of Greater Milton, Margaret Hale was on a desperate mission to get this room put into some semblance of order by nightfall. Her father's first pupil would visit that evening, and everything had to be in perfect order. The large room at the front of the rented townhouse in the Crampton district was to be a combination study area for her father's visiting pupils and a place to relax together as a family in the evenings. The home was much smaller than they were all accustomed to, but for the price, it had been the finest place she and her father could find available in the industrial town.

Margaret, along with her mother and father had arrived in Milton, an industrial town in northeastern England, just five days earlier. This room had been consigned to the lowest priority for settlement. The kitchen and dining room had been unpacked first, followed by her mother's room, and then her father's. Although Margaret's belongings were still crated, this room had to be taken care of _that_ day as her father was hoping his first student would begin reading with him _that_ evening.

She puffed out a heavy breath as she looked at the dozens of crates, most filled with books she needed to unload and place on the empty, built-in shelves. The furniture had been placed in the room, but the pieces still bore the white sheets that had kept them clean on the long railroad trip from the vicarage in Helstone. She decided she would unbind them first, which would allow her a clean place to sit as she sorted her father's books.

"Drat!"

She had forgotten the list her father created before departing the house that morning. She walked through the narrow pathway she'd created between crates and into the hallway that led to the dining room, where the list likely remained, still on the table where she'd sat for breakfast. As she walked, she tripped on the edge of the Oriental rug that ran the length of the hallway, catching the wall to keep from falling to the ground. The rug was lovely but badly worn in areas, especially the edges. It had come with the house, but it would have to be removed. As often as they would trot down this main hallway, and with her mother's presently weakened state, it simply could not stay.

As Margaret bent over and began to roll up the runner, planning to store it in the crawlspace under the kitchen, a scream sounded from the back of the house. Margaret dropped the rug, jumped over what she had already rolled up, and rushed to see what the issue was. Dixon had probably seen another mouse, as they'd found several in the kitchen already, but Margaret needed to be certain.

Dressed for her planned excursion to the market, the housekeeper was staring out the back door of the home, clinging to the door jamb, her mouth hanging ajar as if in shock.

"Dixon? Whatever are you looking at?"

The maid didn't respond.

"Dixon!" Margaret barked sharply. Frustrated, she moved closer to see what in the world the maid was viewing.

On the ground, just below the stairs, a burly man lay still, his neck bloodied from a gaping, horizontal slash across his throat. Margaret cringed and pulled away from the door, bile rising in her throat at the site of a dead man. She sat quickly on a chair and bent over, breathing deeply

Dixon slammed the door and joined Margaret at the small kitchen table.

"You must go find a watchman, Miss Margaret." Dixon's urgent voice was quiet, a reminder that Margaret's mother was still asleep upstairs. It would not do to have her mother become aware of the lifeless body residing in their backyard.

"Should you not go, Dixon?" Margaret took a deep breath and looked up. "You had planned to go to the market. If Mama wakes and finds me gone, she'd think it strange." Margaret shook her head, eyes wide. "She cannot know about this."

Maria Hale's health and spirits had deteriorated rapidly since their arrival. Barely fifty, Mother seemed to have aged a decade overnight. At present, she refused to leave her room except for meals. She refused trips to the market and shops, and while there had been few opportunities to socialize with people of their ilk, she had showed no interest in meeting any people in their new town. Margaret would try to convince her mother to attend church this upcoming Sunday, but she was not holding out hope.

"You should go," Dixon sputtered. Her gaze remained fixed on the door, a fearful look upon her face.

Dixon often forgot she was a servant. She had been lady's maid to Margaret's mother for nearly forty years. As such, they behaved more like sisters and confidantes, than employer and employee. This gruesome task of reporting a murder was not something a young woman of good breeding should be forced to complete. Indeed, her Aunt Shaw would faint dead away at the very prospect of it, but if Dixon would not go, then Margaret must.

Margaret frowned when Dixon finally looked her way. "While I am gone, please finish rolling up the rug in the hallway so Mama will not trip on it should she come to eat lunch." Margaret stood and replaced her chair under the table. "Lock the main door after me, and do not open the back door again, no matter who comes to call. Perhaps you ought to place a chair under the door knob to block any entrance."

Margaret marched out of the kitchen. Where in the world would she go to find a watchman in this part of Milton? She was shaking inside, scared what else she might encounter outside her front door. In London, especially on Harley Street where Aunt Shaw resided, it would be quite easy to find a lawman, but here…well, Margaret hadn't had time to become familiar with the area. She grabbed her hat off the table in the front hallway and exited the house, certain to close the door firmly behind her. Dixon had better heed Margaret's advice and lock the door.

She paused on the porch and looked in both directions. Which way…? Suddenly, she had a thought. _Mrs. Williams._ Surely, their new neighbor could guide Margaret toward the closest police station. She descended the steps, turned right out of the gate, then walked along Fulbright, the town's main road. A few moments later, she stopped at the very last house on the row. Mrs. Williams was the only person she could think of who could help, and as Margaret climbed the stairs, she hoped the older woman was willing to render assistance. With Mr. Bell gone and her father Lord only knew where, she had nowhere else to turn.

Just earlier that week, after they first arrived, Cecilia Williams had stopped to welcome them with a pie. She had lived in this last house on the row for nearly twenty years and would surely know where Margaret could go for help. The woman quickly answered Margaret's knock.

"Well good day, Miss Hale!"

"Oh Mrs. Williams it is not a good day!" Margaret cried. "Not a'tall!"

"Whatever is the matter, child?" She took Margaret's hand and tried to pull her inside the home. "Do come in!"

"I cannot." Margaret shook her head. "I fear I have no time to waste. A man lies dead, Mrs. Williams!"

"Your father?"

"Oh heaven's no!" Margaret continued to shake her head, and then took a deep, steadying breath so she might more calmly explain. "There is a stranger dead on my back porch. I must find a watchman to report it."

"A dead man? In Crampton?" Mrs. Williams made a clicking noise with her tongue. "What on earth is this world coming to? Allow me to fetch my coat and gloves and I will take you to the police station."

Margaret stayed on the upper step of the house while Mrs. Williams went to collect her garb. She glanced around the neighborhood, wondering if the killer was still there, just lying in wait. She shivered at the thought. Had the man been chosen or had it been a random act?

Mrs. Williams was quick to rejoin her and after locking her door, she Together, they rushed through the blustery gray day toward New Street, where Mrs. Williams explained, the nearest police station was located.

"Mrs. Williams, could you slow down a bit, please?" Margaret was struggling to keep up with the much older, spry woman. "I fear I am not as good of a walker as you appear to be."

"You will have to become accustomed to walking, Miss Hale. Nothing is close to Crampton, and if you do not have means to hire or maintain a carriage, your feet will be your sole transportation!"

She was correct. That had been one of Margaret's main concerns in settling so far from the town's center. Although she had walked plenty in London, she'd done so strictly for pleasure, not out of necessity. Aunt Shaw had never allowed Margaret to walk too far and never without an appointed chaperone. Milton was completely different. Women here wandered freely with no need for a chaperone, and most women her age worked in one of the dozens of mills in town, giving the girls far more freedom and independence than Margaret would ever have in London, or perhaps even here. And now, of course, with her father's reduced circumstances, there would be no carriages—hired or otherwise.

After a hurried, thirty-minute walk, they reached a building at the corner of New Street and Mills, upon which hung a simple, weather-worn wooden sign that read, _Police_. Mrs. Williams pushed opened the heavy wooden door and breathlessly, Margaret followed her inside.

A navy-blue uniformed man with a trimmed beard sat at a desk right inside the door. He stood quickly as they neared his desk.

"Ladies?" His voice was very high-pitched. "Have you a problem?"

"Yes!" Margaret cried. Still a bit out of breath, she continued. "There is a dead man lying upon the stairs outside the back door of my home!" She tried to remain calm in her explanation, but the shock was too much.

"A dead man?" The official's eyes had narrowed, and his tone sounded skeptical, but he resumed his seat, reached for a clean sheet of paper, and inked his quill. Looking up, he studied her. "How can you be certain he is not just asleep?"

She uttered an unladylike snort. "Sir, his throat was cut, and there is blood all over his shirt. My maid was on her way to the market and found him when she opened the door!"

As she spoke, the man wrote out the information she gave him, his penmanship careful and neat. When he looked up, he turned to look at Mrs. Williams.

"You are her maid?" he asked.

"Heavens, no." Mrs. Williams shook her head, affronted. "I am her _neighbor_. We live in Crampton, sir, in Fulbright Street."

His face lit up. "Mr. Bell's properties?"

"Yes." Margaret nodded quickly, relieved he finally showed some interest. "Adam Bell is my godfather, sir."

"Your godfather?"

His voice fairly trembled with excitement, and she half-expected him to leap over his desk at any moment and race out the door. He called out to two other men, both of whom wore similar uniforms but their woolen suits had fewer fancy details. The sergeant, who Margaret learned was called Hubert Snipe, quickly explained the situation to the new arrivals, both constables, and soon Margaret and Mrs. Williams followed the three men down a dark, narrow hall and out a back door.

"How did you get here, Miss…?"

"Hale. I am Margaret Hale," she answered Sergeant Snipe. "Mrs. Williams and I walked."

His eyes widened. "You walked all the way here from Crampton?"

"Yes." She nodded. "It cannot have been more than two miles?"

"It is nearly four, Miss Hale," he told her. "Please, come along with me in the carriage. Boys, bring the wagon."

He helped her climb into the rig and then turned to help Mrs. Williams. The older woman slid in next to Margaret.

"I shall ride up on top with the driver," he said before closing the door.

As soon as she heard him climb aboard, the horses pulled them away.

"How glad I am not to have to walk back. I did not realize just how far we had traveled." Mrs. Williams chuckled, but relief showed clearly on the older woman's face. "My husband works at Marlborough Mills and walks this twice every day!"

Milton was a mill town. Mr. Bell had said that over eighty percent of the population of Milton relied on the cotton mills for their daily wage. As long as the mills did well and the price of cotton stayed strong, so did Milton and its residents.

"What does he do at the mill, Mrs. Williams?"

Except for the initial meeting when Mrs. Williams brought the pie to Margaret's family, they had not shared an extended conversation. Instead, they had waved to each other in passing and talked only once, for a short time, when Margaret ran into her at the market two days earlier.

She tipped up her chin. "He is Mr. Thornton's overseer. He manages the whole of the mill." Pride underlined her words.

"And which mill is that again?"

Margaret had tried to pay attention earlier when Mrs. William told her, but still in shock, she could not remember the name. Through gossip Dixon had picked up at the market, Margaret had learned some of the mills were run better than others.

"Marlborough Mills. It's the largest one in Milton. Mr. Bell owns those buildings, too, you know. The machinery and business, however, solely belongs to Mr. Thornton."

"That sounds like a taxing job, Mrs. Williams. The largest in Milton! My goodness, I should like to see inside one day, just to have a peek at how such a facility is operated. I have come to understand the mills run very long hours." The whistles that blew through town early and late each day were testament to that.

"Indeed, child. My George leaves well before dawn and is home barely before nine each evening. With our children grown and gone, my days are quite long and lonely."

She looked out the window as she admitted the last, and Margaret's heart went out to her.

"You must come and visit us whenever you wish," Margaret offered, grabbing the older woman's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "My mother is undergoing a rather… _difficult_ adjustment to Milton. Perhaps if she had someone familiar with the town to learn from, she might become more comfortable?" A thought suddenly crossed her mind. "Has this happened before, Mrs. Williams? Is Crampton so dangerous that we will find dead bodies wherever we go?"

Mrs. Williams snorted. "No, indeed! Why I have never heard of a murder in this neighborhood! This is an anomaly, Miss Hale. A horrible, horrible, rare instance. I would not have lived here as long as we have were it a dangerous area. Furthermore, Mr. Bell would not allow such behavior to occur in and around his properties."

"That is a relief." Margaret's hand rested heavy against her chest. "But Mr. Bell is in Oxford so much; how can he possibly be aware of the condition of his properties in Milton?"

"Oh! I suppose being so new here, you would not know. You see, Mr. Thornton manages _all_ of Mr. Bell's properties within Milton, which includes his mill and our Crampton homes. There may be other places, as well, but those are the ones I am certain of."

"This Mr. Thornton sounds like a rather important fellow in Milton," Margaret commented.

"Oh, he is! He is a very fine man. He started with nothing and grew to become an extraordinarily powerful, respected gentleman. Especially for someone so young. I expect he is not yet thirty-five."

The coach came to a halt just on the corner of Fulbright. An instant later, Sergeant Snipes popped open the carriage door. The wagon pulled to a halt directly next to them, the constables waiting, no doubt, for Snipes to give them their orders on how to proceed.

"Miss Hale, would you be so kind as to lead me to your residence?" he asked her.

"Certainly."

Margaret stepped out of the carriage and waited until Mrs. Williams was also on the ground before she pointed Snipes to her house at the very end of the row.

"I shall leave you here, Miss Hale," Mrs. Williams said. "I have no stomach to deal with a dead man."

"Of course." Margaret gave her a quick, impulsive hug. "Thank you so much for your assistance today. I do not believe I could have done this without your support."

Mrs. Williams tipped up Margaret's chin in a motherly way. "You are a strong young woman, not like the other soft ones who have come up from the south. Yet, I vow, you are as fine as any lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting."

"That is kind of you to say." Mr. Bell would be glad to know Margaret made a fine first impression with her new neighbors, his tenants.

"Miss Hale!" Snipes barked, "Let us be on our way, if you please." His men in the parked wagon shifted on the bench, while their horses pawed at the ground.

"Yes, sir. I am sorry." Margaret turned to Mrs. Williams. "Come along. Let me walk you to your door."

They climbed the steps, and Mrs. Williams paused on her front stoop.

"Please, do come to visit us. You will always be welcome for tea or otherwise," Margaret told her.

"I shall, Miss Hale. Once you have fully settled, do let me know, and I will visit at once."

This time, Mrs. Williams hugged Margaret before walking inside her home. Margaret caught a glimpse of the entry hall over the woman's shoulder before the door closed. Was the house identical in design to the one in which she and her parents lived, or, seeing as the building had been erected on a corner lot, was the Williams's place larger? Of course, she didn't have time to dwell on such matters. Not with Sergeant Snipes waiting for her to lead him and his men down the road to her home.

 _Please, let Mother still be in her bedchamber,_ Margaret prayed. She could never explain the presence of these men without causing her mother alarm. Perhaps they would have no need to come inside the house? Surely, Margaret could answer their questions in the alleyway just as easily as she could in their front parlor. She could see no need to disrupt the entire household with this matter.

"This is our house." She stopped at the base of the stairs. "If you go through the alley over there"—she pointed not thirty feet away—"you will find him at the back door."

Snipes nodded to his constables, and immediately, they went down the path through the alley. Margaret trailed behind, looking over shoulder, hoping the neighbors were all away from home, at work, and not at home, peeking out their windows and watching her with the uniformed men. It was hardly a good impression for a newcomer to make.

She prayed the body was gone, that it had been a horrible, sick joke. But no, the man was still dead, lying on her back porch. The two constables began looking around the area, studying the ground, searching for evidence, she supposed.

"How long have you lived her, Miss Hale?" Snipes asked.

"We arrived on Sunday afternoon. This is our fifth day now, sir."

Snipes walked forward, circled the body the best he could without moving him. He bent closer, studying the gaping hole in the man's throat. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and covered her mouth and nose. Was that the odor of rotting flesh or some other foul smell? She had no idea what the smell was, only that it twisted her stomach. Could the body have begun to decompose already?

"I know this may be difficult for you, Miss Hale, but I need you to take a close look at this man and tell me if he is known to you." Snipes looked to his constables. "Cover the wound with the sheet you brought. It would not do for her to see such a thing."

"I saw him before coming to you. At least, I looked quickly." Still holding her linen cloth over her face, she moved forward and stopped beside the sergeant.

"Miss Hale?" Snipes asked.

She shook her head and moved back. "As far as I know, I have never seen this man."

"Very well. Boys, load him up. Miss Hale, may I come inside your home and talk with you, please?"

"Yes, of course." She nodded. "Shall we go to the front?"

He nodded and followed behind her, his leather boots crunching the gravel as they walked. When they reached the door, she found it locked, just as she had asked Dixon to do. She knocked quietly, hoping the maid, and not her mother, would hear them.

Dixon came to answer, cracking open the door.

"It's me," Margaret told her.

Dixon pulled the door wide and stepped back. "Oh, miss! You are here. I saw the policemen in the back but did not see you with them."

Margaret walked inside. She invited Snipes to enter, then closed the door. "Dixon, this is Sergeant Snipes. Dixon is our maid." Margaret addressed the woman in question. "Would you bring tea, please?"

"Yes, miss." Dixon looked closely, almost fearfully toward Snipes but left to fulfill Margaret's request.

Margaret removed her gloves and hat and set them on the table by the door. She held out her hand to accept Snipes' hat but instead, he held onto it.

"We can go into the drawing room." She pointed to the door on the right. "We have yet to unpack in there, but I shall remove the coverings on the furniture, and we should be rather comfortable."

She was nervous suddenly. She had nothing to worry about. She did not know the dead man, had no idea how he had come to land on her stairs. That was truly all she knew, all she could tell the sergeant.

She pulled the white sheets off her father's favorite chair and the matching one next to it where her mother often sat when the furniture had filled the parlor in their vicarage home. "Please, do sit, sir."

He sat as soon as she did.

"I assume the maid who answered the door is the one who discovered the body this morning?" he asked.

"Yes. We have just one servant at present." She swallowed. "I had just finished breakfast and was getting ready to unbox my father's books." She gestured toward all the sealed crates. "Dixon screamed. I thought she saw another mouse, as we've had half a dozen or so since we moved in. But when I arrived in the kitchen, she was staring out the door. I went to stand beside her, and that when I saw…" Margaret shook her head and shuddered.

"Did you touch the body?"

"No!" Margaret said. "I did not even approach it—him. I saw the blood at his neck and had to turn away. I went to sit at the kitchen table to gather my wits. I have never seen a dead body before, sir."

"I imagine not." He chuckled. "Fortunately, you will likely never see another."

Dixon rapped softly on the door before entering with the tea service.

"Could I speak with your maid, Miss Hale?"

Margaret nodded. "Of course."

"Perhaps you could step out of the room while we talk?" he asked Margaret. "I wish to hear her experience since she was the first to see the man."

"Yes, I can understand that. Dixon, please do answer his questions, and fetch me when you are finished." Margaret stood. "Serve him some tea as well. It is a rather grim day."

Margaret stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. Thank goodness her mother was still above stairs! Most of the time, Margaret would have preferred her mother to be amongst the family, but for the moment, Margaret prayed Mama would stay abed.

She walked to the back of the house to look out the kitchen window and see if the constables had left. As she'd hoped, they, along with the dead man, were gone. No evidence remained of the blood that had dripped from the dead man's neck to cover his shirt and shoulders. His left leg had hung at an odd angle, appearing to be broken or twisted. How the poor soul had suffered! Would she ever know who he was or why he'd been killed? Or most importantly, why someone had dumped him on _their_ doorstep?

She poured herself a cup of tea from the pot on the stove and sank onto a hard-backed chair, waiting for the sergeant to complete his discussion with Dixon. She took a sip of the tea, wondering where her father had gone that morning and when he would be home. At breakfast, he had told her he had a meeting with a new student to establish a learning schedule. She had been distracted, reading a letter from her cousin, Edith Lennox, so he very well may have explained further, but she could not recall any other details. She just hoped he would come home before the sergeant left.

Margaret had drank all but the last dregs of her tea when Dixon came looking for her. The pasty-faced maid stopped in the kitchen doorway, a faraway look in her eyes.

"Miss Margaret, the sergeant wishes to see you," she murmured.

"Are you well?" Margaret asked, standing. "You are so pale."

"I am well. It was just difficult to explain what I saw. To remember…" Dixon sat heavily and rested her head in hands, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms.

"Yes, I am certain that was difficult. It was painful for me, also." Margaret rested her hand on Dixon's shoulder. She, too, felt as if the vivid images of the dead man were burned into her mind. "Have some tea, or perhaps something stronger if it will help. Just keep Mama out of the drawing room until Sergeant Snipes leaves."

"Yes, Miss Margaret. I best go check on her right now, or I might just start tipping the bottle."

Margaret leaned forward with a grin. "I would not blame you. What a fright!"

She left the room, shaking her head. Just as she reached the drawing room, the front door opened, admitting her thin, gray-haired father.

"Oh, thank goodness you are home." She rushed forward to greet him.

He opened his arms, and she threw herself into his embrace.

"Oh, Papa! A horrible thing has happened." She squeezed him and then pulled back. "There is a police sergeant in the drawing room."

"A police sergeant!" he cried. "Whatever happened?"

"Shhh, you will distress Mama. Come along." She took his hand and led him into the drawing room. She closed the door behind them.

"Sergeant Snipes, this is my father, Mr. Richard Hale."

The two men wordlessly shook hands.

"To what does your visit pertain?" her father asked.

"Please, have a seat, Mr. Hale. Perhaps Miss Hale will explain?" Snipes suggested. He sat as soon as she was settled.

"Papa, Dixon was going to the market this morning. Just after you left us, she walked out the back door and found a dead man!"

"What? A dead man? Outside our home? Is that what you are you saying, Margaret?" His face turned stark white.

"Yes, Papa. The man was lying on our back steps. I went to fetch Mrs. Williams—you know, the lady at the end of our row who brought us that pie? She agree to take me to the police station."

"Do we know the man, Margaret?"

"No, Papa." Margaret shook her head. "I have never before seen him."

"Mr. Hale, I spoke with your Miss Dixon at length. She said she did not recognize the fellow, either. She did say you left just before she had planned to depart for the market. Did you leave by the front or rear door?"

"Why, the front of course."

"Of course," the sergeant said. "Did you see anything odd or out of the ordinary?"

Her father wrinkled his brow. "You must understand, sir, everything is new here for us." He smiled softly at Margaret. "We have never lived in such a place. But from what I have seen the past few days, no, nothing seemed amiss."

"Do you own a knife, Mr. Hale?"

"A knife?" he whispered. "Is that how he was killed?"

Snipes nodded curtly.

"Stabbed?"

Margaret shook he head. "No, Papa. Someone cut his throat."

She stared at her hands, uncomfortable to be discussing such a thing. How could this happen to them! Five days in their new town and trouble had already found them!

"I—that is, yes, we have knives in the kitchen, I suppose, but I do not carry a knife or have anything aside from food cutlery," her father said.

"I believe you, Mr. Hale." Snipes stared at her father for several minutes in silence, perhaps pondering what else to ask? "Would you please tell me where you went this morning?"

Her father nodded quickly and sat up straighter in his chair. "Yes, of course. I came to Milton to be a private tutor. One of my new students had requested I meet him during his mid-morning break so we might develop a teaching schedule. I have to work around his mill responsibilities, you see."

"And where was this visit?" Snipes asked.

"It was at Marlborough Mills."

The mill where Mr. Williams worked and one of the buildings Mr. Bell owned!

Snipes grunted. "You will be tutoring one of the hands from Marlborough Mills?"

"Gracious, no, not a laborer. I met with the master himself! Mr. John Thornton has requested my assistance in finishing his learning of Latin and Greek. I am an instructor of the classics, Sergeant Snipes."

"Do you know, Papa, Mr. Thornton oversees these properties for Mr. Bell?"

"I do, Margaret." Her father nodded slowly. "That is precisely how I was first introduced to Mr. Thornton, through Mr. Bell, first through letters. When you were at the station on Monday, waiting for our furnishings to arrive, Mr. Thornton came here to introduce himself and to offer his services should they be needed. He and Bell are close associates."

Snipes stood. "I think I have all the information I need at present."

"What is to happen next?" Margaret asked.

"We will attempt to learn the man's identity and question people in the neighborhood. It is shame you've undergone such an experience, especially having only arrived here, Miss Hale." He smiled gently. "Please, do be assured the town is not unsafe for ladies such as yourself, or gentlemen, for that matter. I will place a watchman here in Crampton for several days. Also, if it pleases you, I will send a man here to install some sliding panels on your door, for further protection?"

"How kind of you, Sergeant Snipes. That would be very agreeable," her father said, nodding.

Margaret stood next to her father, and together, they showed Snipes to the front entry. Her father opened the door for him and stepped aside. Before he walked through the door, Snipes turned back to face them, a small grin upon his face.

"I am unsure if you are aware, but in addition to running Marlborough Mills, Mr. Thornton is also Milton's Magistrate."


	2. Chapter 2

" _If a man neglects education, he walks lame to the_

 _end of his life."_

 _~Plato_

Chapter Two

"What in the world do you want with the classics, or literature study, my son? You are a worker; a businessman, a manufacturer of the finest cotton in all the world. You have no need for such lofty study as Greek and Latin."

John Thornton had just explained to his dear mother how he would be spending the rest of his evening, and two evenings a week going forward. Clearly, and expectedly, she was critical of his decision to better himself, to resume the education he was cheated of when his father killed himself nearly fifteen years earlier.

"It's a diversion, mother, nothing more. I do not drink, or gamble. I have no vices that prevent me from being successful in life." John rested his hand on his mother's shoulder, stilling her stitching. "Can I not have this one pleasure without your censure?"

"A defrocked clergyman turned private tutor!" she barked. "Why are you even involved with such a man? How can you be involved with such a man?"

John sighed. "He is not defrocked, Mother. It was his choice to dissent from some of the teachings of the church and his conscious could no longer allow him to preach tenets he no longer believed." He moved to the mirror near the doorway of the drawing room and straightened his cravat before turning back to face her. "Mr. Bell recommended him to me. Mr. Hale has settled into one of Mr. Bell's Crampton properties."

"Ah, Mr. Bell. Mr. Bell this, Mr. Bell that. What has he ever done for you, John? When you were young and studying at his school, when we needed the help, where was he then?" She tossed aside her needlework and stood stiffly in her black silk gown.

"You have no reason to hold a grudge, Mother. Bell had no reason to do anything to help us. He and father were virtual enemies, in constant discord over business and investments. You forget it was Mr. Bell who found me the job with the draper's shop and then later when Mr. Marlborough was nearing retirement, recommended me to him as an overseer. Had he not done those things we would not be in the position we are today, Mother."

They stared at one another, John prepared to further defend his actions, his mother likely coming up with even more objections.

"You will spend two nights a week with a Dissenter from the Church of England. What good will come of it?" Her voice was rough, with the true Darkshire accent. "What will people think?"

"Since when do you give a fig about what others think, Mother?" He chuckled. She liked to know what others were doing, but rarely concerned herself with their opinion.

"You have a position to maintain in Milton." Her voice was rising again. "These Hales will bring nothing but trouble." She pointed her finger at him. "You mark my words. They will bring trouble."

He chuckled. "Why Mother, you are prejudiced! The Hales are not Milton people, not Northerners. People from the South are not quite as good as us, eh?"

"Do not talk such foolishness." She snorted. "Prejudiced indeed!"

"What would you call it, then? Fear?"

"I fear no one, John Thornton." She marched closer to him. "I never have. Even when the bankers were banging down our door after your father's death, seeking their repayments, I had no fear."

He grinned, recalling in his mind just how formidable she was at that time. _He_ had felt fear and such sadness at the loss of his father. She, in contrast, allowed her anger to guide her behavior, and he believed even held that anger today. With everyone but him, and sometimes Fanny, she appeared a bitter old widow. From her constant dress in black, to her sharp, curt answers, Mrs. Hannah Thornton was still seen as formidable, perhaps even more so now, as she had raised him to be a well-respected, powerful mill master and magistrate in Milton.

"If you have no fear or prejudice, perhaps you will keep an open mind when you meet the family," he suggested.

"Family? I had imagined he was a bachelor! He left his stable position with the church and came to Milton with no certainty of income and he has a family!"

John crossed his arms against his chest. He had expected some concern from his mother, simply because she had something to say about everything he did, but this was more than he could have envisioned.

"Mr. Hale has a living from his family's estate, and as I understand it, Mrs. Hale was once a debutante in London, the daughter of Sir John Beresford of Rutlandshire."

She shook her head and frowned. "That means nothing to me. Titles mean nothing in Milton." Her hand cut through the air. "If anything, it will make Mrs. Hale less comfortable here." She clucked her tongue. "She's probably some fine lady who has never dirtied her hands in her life."

"And yet you are not prejudiced?" He laughed again. "It surely sounds as if you have figured out her character before setting eyes upon her."

"I will meet her if you wish." Nose tipped way up in the air, she returned to her chair and picked up her stitching. "In fact, tell her I will call upon them tomorrow for tea."

He moved forward and kissed her head. "Thank you. Mother. She may have been raised quite different from you, may have lived a very different life, but I reckon she will need a friend here."

"I never said I would be her friend, John." The gravelly voice was back. "I cannot be a tender friend, but I will welcome her as I would any newcomer of her station to Milton."

"Very well," He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his heavier woolen coat. "I will alert the Hales to your visit tomorrow morning. I shall order the horses readied, as well. Crampton would be a bit of a walk for you."

"Nonsense, I shall simply hire a cab."

He snorted. "Last time you did that, Mother, you complained of a headache for three days straight."

"I did not." How indignant she sounded, as if she was impermeable to a simple headache.

"Our carriage will be readied for you when you are ready for it. Good evening, Mother." He walked through the doorway and into the hall, pausing when he heard her voice calling out to him.

"Will you be home for my readings tonight?"

He rolled his eyes and held onto his sigh. Returning to the doorway, he peeked around it, back into the room. "You know I always am, except on Wednesdays when I am with the other mill masters for our weekly meeting. So, yes, Mother, I will continue to enjoy your readings at ten o'clock sharp. Perhaps choose something uplifting from the Old Testament. Today has already been a mighty long day."

He retraced his steps and left her alone to stew in the drawing room. Despite her attitude about meeting new people, John had no reservations about the Hales. Mr. Richard Hale had visited the mill that very morning to set up their study appointments and John found him very pleasant. His mother was prejudice, no doubt about it. Either that or fearful of people she did not know. Over the course of the past few years her circle of friends had tightened to just the few women she visited during her sewing meetings twice weekly.

Even if Mr. Bell had not recommended Mr. Hale so highly, John would still have been impressed by the soft-spoken, gentleman he'd met that morning. He carried himself with grace and had a certain air of intelligence without any arrogance. He'd clearly been excited to meet John, already had ideas of what they might study together. John had chosen to begin with Homer as his Greek was weaker than his Latin. John could fumble through Ovid and Virgil in Latin, but Greek… well that was a weakness he wished to rectify.

He picked up his hat and gloves in the front hall and after the butler, Bently, opened the heavy door, John exited into the growing darkness of the gloomy evening. Usually, September was never quite this dreary. It seemed during this last week the sun had failed to shine at all. Of course, stuck in his mill nearly fourteen hours a day, the sun could be shining, bringing warmth to those outside and he would have no idea.

The walk to Crampton would do him good. Filled with an excess of energy, the walks to the suburb would alleviate some of the pent up energy, perhaps allow his mind to relax and separate from the mill business and allow him to concentrate on his new learning venture.

Excitement and anticipation zinged through him. When was the last time he had done something new, something unexpected? His life was run by a rigid schedule, beginning daily with the steam engine ignition and ending long after the final closing bell when the looms were put to bed. This commitment to Mr. Hale would pull his attention from the mill, which may or may not allow for extra hours on other days, but he needed this change, this alteration to his schedule. Life had become mundane and oh, so dull.

He had walked but five blocks when a constable waved him down. He stopped and waited for the uniformed man to jog across the street, dodging passing carriages, to meet up with him. Although he knew many of the lawmen of Milton, this particular man was not familiar to him. John was well known, recognized by most on the streets of Milton as both a successful mill master and a magistrate.

The man tipped his hat toward John. "Sergeant Snipes, Mr. Thornton, sir."

"How do you do?" John tipped his own hat to the man in greeting.

"I was heading to Marlborough Mills to see you, sir," Snipes told him. "There was an incident in Crampton I thought you might wish to know about."

John looked around to find a quiet, secluded place where others could not listen in. He treated his police business with as much secrecy as he could. "Let's step over here."

They walked to the edge of an alleyway, and John stopped right under a freshly lit gaslight.

"Well?" John asked.

"There was a murder, sir." Snipes' voice was quite low. "No one in the area was able to identify the man's body. It was found in the alley behind Fulbright Street, right where Mr. Bell's properties are situated."

"I see."

"I should not have bothered you had it been a simple murder, sir, but as you manage those houses, I thought it best that you knew of the situation."

"And I thank you for that, Sergeant. It seems rather peculiar. Crampton is the safest of the suburbs, is it not?"

"Yes indeed." Snipes nodded repeatedly. "If only I could afford it that is where I would settle my own family."

"I would welcome updates, Sergeant. For the sake of the man's family, I hope he can be identified."

"I have had his face sketched and it will appear in the newspaper day after tomorrow, sir."

"Very good, Snipes. Well done. Good evening." John tipped his hat and continued his trek toward Crampton.

Crampton was the suburb where middle managers lived. People such as his overseer Williams, and those moving up in society. It was near the back-to-back houses of Princeton where his hands lived, and thus robbery or burglary may have been a motive, but murder? In all his years managing the houses in Crampton, there had never been any violent crimes. Domestic disputes were not unheard of, nor squabbles between neighbors, but never a murder.

He would have to inform Mr. Bell. Although the elderly gentleman spent most of his time between Oxford and London, he still kept a finger in the business of Milton, at least where his investments were concerned. John's mother had been far too harsh when discussing Bell earlier. The man had no reason to do anything for their family after John's father's suicide. He helped John find work enough to support his mother and baby sister. John came to understand the value of a hard day's work, and learned young that he had to work hard to rise above the others unwilling to push themselves.

The early labor made him tough, and it was that work ethic which led him to where he was today, the mill master at Marlborough Mills, the most profitable textile factory in Milton. He knew he was arrogant, perhaps a bit conceited at times when meeting with the other mill masters. They were all so much older than he was, more experienced, more worldly and he believed the only way to impress them, or show his true capabilities was with a full dose of pride and superior behavior.

With Mr. Hale tonight John could hardly behave in such a way. In truth, John's nature was not arrogant, many days he still felt like the scared little boy working hard to put food on his mother's table so little Fanny could eat. Mr. Hale was John's superior in all things academic, and John hoped Mr. Hale could replace the years of learning John lost while fighting for the livelihood of his family.

Before he realized it, John approached Fulbright Street and turned. He had planned to call on Williams and his wife, but their home was dark as he passed. The Hales, he knew, lived just a few doors down. At Mr. Bell's request, John had been there just weeks before the Hale's arrival to ensure all was as it should be in the small, two story home.

After walking up the short set of stairs, he rapped on the door and removed his hat.

"That must be Mr. Thornton calling." Margaret's mother said quietly, in response to the jingle of the bell from the front door. They were upstairs stitching in her mother's bedroom, the largest of all the bedchambers.

Margaret glanced at the clock next to her mother's bed. It was precisely seven, the time agreed upon by her father and Mr. Thornton. _Punctuality is the politeness of kings._ He might be a tradesman, a manufacturer, but at least he understood the courtesy of being on time.

"Yes, Mama, I believe you are right." She gave her mother a small grin. "Papa has been very excited all day for him to arrive. I do not believe I have seen him quite so happy since Edith's wedding this past summer."

"At least _he_ is happy," her mother snapped. "Are you quite certain you finished putting the room in proper order for their studies? Your father believes this Mr. Thornton will bring more pupils his way and everything must be just so."

"I did." Margaret nodded, and resumed her stitching.

She ignored her mother's barb about happiness. Margaret was not unhappy here, it was just so very different from London and Helstone. With the death in the alley, she worried a bit about their safety in the northern town, but other than that, and lack of friends, Margaret was content.

Sergeant Snipes had sent a man to add a sliding wooden plank to bar the front and back door. The same man was kind enough to test the latches on all the windows of the first floor. Margaret felt much safer after he had left, and her mother had not even seemed to notice the disruption of hammering.

"Your father was pleased?"

Margaret sighed. Why had her mother not simply checked for herself? Or even better why had she not joined them at the dinner table?

"Yes, Mama. Papa appeared quite content with the arrangements of the room. We brought just enough furniture from Helstone to make the room quite comfortable and likewise useful for study purposes."

It was odd that her mother had not taken over the decorating of this new home. Aunt Shaw would not have allowed Edith to choose furniture placement, or which decorations should be placed where. Margaret's mother was so low in spirits, had no incentive to leave her bedchamber, even for meals, it was no wonder she truly did not care how the rest of the house appeared.

She would, however, leave for tea with Mr. Thornton in one hour's time. Her father had given her mother no choice in the matter. Her father had wanted them to meet the man as soon as he arrived, and remain in the study while he gave Mr. Thornton his lesson. Margaret was willing, thinking her father needed the added confidence family provided, but her mother refused. Margaret quickly decided it might be best to sit with her mother until the appointed time and then make certain she came down with her. That might be the only way Mama would leave the bedchamber.

Margaret began to think her mother's behavior was an attempt to illicit pity or sympathy from them. Instead, it only frustrated Margaret's father, gave more work to Dixon who was forced to climb and descend the stairs two or three times more than usual each day, and required Margaret to run the household. How could they sympathize with her? They were all experiencing an enormous change. While always somewhat fragile, with a weak constitution, her mother was acting more poorly than usual.

Once Sergeant Snipes left, Margaret spent the next six straight hours putting the study together just as her father instructed. Furniture was moved and dusted and fluffed. Books were arranged in her father's specified order and both rugs and curtains were aired. The room was cozy, a bit tight, but suitable for the needs of her father and his pupils.

"What do you expect him to be like, Margaret?"

She glanced up at her mother and paused her stitching. "Mr. Thornton?"

"Yes, of course. Who else?"

"Mama, you need not be so short with me. My mind had drifted elsewhere."

"I'm sorry, my dear." She set aside her stitching and covered her face. "I so dislike the idea of strangers in my home."

"After this evening he will no longer be a stranger." How hard it was to constantly think with optimism. "Father says he must tutor in order to have sufficient funds to support the family, therefore, we must support this endeavor."

Her mother rubbed her face before moving her hands away and turning back to Margaret. "What merchant needs to know Greek and Latin?"

"John Thornton is likely the oldest pupil Papa will see. It is not the merchants he hopes to tutor, but their sons. The tradesmen hope their sons will surpass their own success in the world."

"Even so! Oh Margaret, what am I to do?" Her mother cried. "I have no wish to even leave this room, much less the house. How can I bear this? How can I live like this?"

"You must try, Mama." She reached out and squeezed her mother's trembling hand. "We will make friends, like Mrs. Williams who first greeted us as we arrived. We will meet people at church this Sunday, good women who you will like."

"And do you promise this?" her mother demanded. "How can you be certain? All I have seen are ragged, dirty people. Even the farmers in Helstone cleaned themselves."

Margaret chuckled. "Mother you have not been out of this house since we came, but to go to the market one day. We saw maids, of likely fine families, shopping for their employers. They were hardly bedraggled and poorly dressed."

"There were others, Margaret, I simply did not point them out to you."

It was pointless to argue with her mother. On that trip to the market, Margaret had seen no one such as her mother feared. Earlier this morning, however, on her travel to the constable, Margaret had seen a wide variety of people, some who would likely frighten and repel her delicate mother.

"We must try our best, Mama, for Papa's sake. This is difficult for him, too, but perhaps God has brought us here for a specific reason. We must become a part of Milton. We cannot hide ourselves away. Life will be so fuller if we meet people, become part of the life here."

"You speak as if you like Milton."

Margaret slowly shook her head. "This would never have been my first choice for removal, yet, here we are and we must make the best of it. The choice was made for us, Mother. I cannot say I like it here, but perhaps in time, once we make acquaintances and friends that will change."

"Why could your father not go to Oxford?" More tears fell from her mother's eyes. "Surely Mr. Bell could have found him a position there."

"He is a Dissenter from the Church, Mama," Margaret reminded her. "He would hardly be welcomed in Oxford. Here, in Milton, he is unknown. He will teach subjects he loves. He has always been happy in his books, studying. Perhaps he should have become an instructor at Oxford, not a minister of the Church, but he cannot change that now. We must look ahead, not behind."

"All I see is sadness ahead, my dear. Sadness, loneliness and isolation." Again her mother's hands covered her face.

"Mama, you must not speak like that." Margaret realized coddling her would just increase her mother's whining. "We have a home here, one that I have done my best to make warm and comfortable for our little family. Dixon is looking for a young woman to help several days a week, to ease her burdens, and if Mr. Thornton has a family, perhaps they will be so good as to introduce us to those who they associate with."

"Cotton spinners?"

"He is not a common laborer. I understand he _owns_ the mill, Mama. According to the letter from Mr. Bell, Mr. Thornton is well respected here in Milton, perhaps not as grand as a London gentleman you always wished I would meet, or maybe even the young Mr. Gorman who builds carriages in Helstone, but here, in this industrial town, he is the best of the best."

Silence hung in the room as both returned to their handiwork. Her mother preferred to knit, while Margaret loved to stitch and sew. It was calming, the use of hands to create a small thing of beauty. Margaret could draw, not faces so clearly, but landscapes and nature. At Helstone she would spend hours in the woods of the New Forest sketching. How pleasant that had been, with the sun on her face, and the smell of flowers and trees which Margaret had yet to uncover here in Milton.

"I imagine this Mr. Thornton to be as old as your father. What do you think, Margaret?"

"I am sure I do not know." Margaret frowned. Her concentration of the day had been set on getting the house ready for Mr. Thornton and preventing her mother learning about the dead body in the alleyway. "It would be rather strange, though, a man of father's age wanting to suddenly resume his studies from so long ago?"

"He must be young, then." Her mother concluded.

"Not too young. It would surely take time to become a master of a mill, unless his family was in a good financial position. Perhaps his father started the mill and then he stepped in once his father retired?"

"I suppose we will learn more shortly, my dear. Your father has said very little about him to me, except that he is a tenant of Mr. Bell, who owns the buildings of Marlborough Mills which Mr. Thornton operates."

"Papa said he expects a visit from Mr. Bell next week to see that we have settled in."

"Perhaps he will introduce us to some of the people he associates with while here, whatever society there may be."

"I'm sure he will be pleased to do just that." Margaret intentionally made a bright smile for her mother. "You must be strong by the time he arrives. Strong enough to travel about Milton wherever he cares to take us."

"I do not know if I can be, but for you, I shall try."

It was a half-hearted smile which she gave Margaret, but it was better than tears. A rap at the door had them both turn that way, anticipating Dixon's announcement that the tea was ready. Had a full hour passed since Mr. Thornton's arrival? Margaret called her inside.

"Is it time already, Dixon?" Margaret asked.

"Not just yet, Miss, Dixon said. "I come up to see if your mother might need help getting dressed."

"Ah," was all Margaret could answer.

"What is he like, Dixon?" Her mother stood from her chair. "Margaret and I have been wondering what sort of man Mr. Thornton might be."

"Young, not passed forty for certain. Quite tall and formidable. Mannerly and respectable toward me. Mr. Hale met him with great enthusiasm."

"Well," her mother sighed, "at least one of us will."

"Mama! You must be cordial. In your life as a minister's wife, and before that as a debutante in London, you met so many different kinds of people, surely you can adjust to this man. Perhaps we will meet with him only this evening and Papa will never require it of us again?"

"Let us hope so."

"If you approach him with such a negative attitude, Papa will be disturbed. You must try." How ridiculous her mother was acting. Indeed she behaved as a spoiled child might.

"I shall. Do not expect me to say much to him, but I will be a pleasant as I can be."

Margaret held back a groan. Why must her mother be this way? Margaret was not excited to interact with this man, or any of the manufacturers of Milton, but to appease her father, to help him settle into this new world, she would do just about whatever was required.

Dixon helped each lady fix their hair and straighten their collars and sleeves. Margaret added just a bit of color to her cheeks, and suggested her mother do the same, but she refused. She would not primp for a cotton manufacturer.

"Mother, perhaps you should put off meeting Mr. Thornton until you have settled into Milton? I fear you may say something to offend the man and lose father one of his wealthiest pupils."

"Margaret! I shall do no such thing."

"Then you must put a smile upon your face and pretend to be happy that he is in our home. It is through his work with Papa that we will be able to hire a helper for Dixon."

"Yes, of course. I must remember that." Her mother shook her head. "This is all just so peculiar, so strange to me."

"To all of us." Margaret took her mother's hand. "Come we must meet the man, welcome him into our home and hope that he is a gentlemanly sort, someone who can introduce us to the better people in Milton society." Margaret turned to their maid. "How do we look Dixon?"

"Just as you should, Miss Margaret, just as you should."

As Margaret and her mother descended the stairs, men's voices could easily be heard seeping from the study. It was clear whose voice belonged to whom, and truth be told, Margaret rather liked the deep, baritone Darkshire accent of Mr. Thornton. How different it sounded from the smooth, cultured tones most men in London worked so long to develop.

The tea tray was waiting on the hallway table to be delivered to the men. Margaret picked it up and once Dixon opened the door for her, she entered the room, with no feelings of trepidation or awkwardness. She was disposed to treat Mr. Thornton with friendliness and most of all welcoming civility and courtesy. She knew, even if her mother did not yet accept it, association with Mr. Thornton would be their pathway to acceptance in Milton, and as Milton was where they had settled, Milton must be where they were accepted.

As the women entered, both men stood from the desk they shared as they studied together. She caught her breath as she met Mr. Thornton's eyes. They were the bluest she had ever seen, and together with his excessive height and broad-shoulders, he would turn any woman's eye. His face was not particularly remarkable, except for his eyes, and while she knew he was not quite a gentleman, there was nothing in his manner of greeting which would suggest otherwise.

Senses returned, Margaret greeted the visitor with a kind smile and set the tea tray across the room, where a sofa and two chairs had been set near the fire.

"I hope we have not entered too early, interrupting your studies," Margaret said.

"Not at all, Miss Hale," Mr. Thornton said. "It has been many years since I have had the opportunity to read Greek, and your father and I have both surmised a slow progression at first will be best."

Margaret sat on the sofa next to her mother and waited for her mother to pour the tea. When it was obvious she would not, Margaret took over the tray. Her mother refused to meet Mr. Thornton's gaze, and in turn, Mr. Thornton seemed a bit anxious around her.

"Would you care for sugar and milk, sir?" Margaret asked.

"More sugar than milk, if you please."

His voice was curt, but not with any intention of offense. She filled his cup just as he requested and handed it to him, their fingers briefly touching and she handed him cup and saucer. An odd warmth spread all the way up her arm, but she ignored it, and returned to the tray to prepare the tea just as her father liked. Her mother refused a cup, but Margaret appreciated the warm beverage on a chilly night.

"Mr. Thornton has warned me that weather changes here in November. It becomes rather foggy, and not just in the mornings, but it seems the fogs hang on through the whole of the day."

"Is that so?" Margaret asked. "We shall lose our view from the back of the house overlooking the plains and canal. Mr. Thornton," she turned her attention to her visitor, "there seems to be a constant scent of smoke in the air. We are far more accustomed to the fragrance of grass and trees."

"It is the result of the factories, Miss Hale. The mills spew smoke from their chimneys into the air."

"That does not seem very healthy to those who must breathe it, day in and out."

"It is that smoke that runs the economy of Britain. Without factories and mills such as mine, Britain would not be the economic force in the world which it is."

She had no answer to that, had no concept of business or the economy. She had learned things were much more expensive here than had been in Helstone. She had not gone shopping for gowns and fripperies here yet to know how prices might compare to London.

"It is good you have chosen Crampton," Mr. Thornton continued. "As it is on gravelly soil, it is seen as the healthiest suburb of Milton. It is also the safest of places. You are close to the center of things, yet distanced enough to not be over powered by the immediate consequences of the soot from the chimneys."

Margaret watched his face as he spoke with her father. His expression was resolute and powerful. Although not a gentleman, there was nothing common about him, either. He dressed as fine as any man in her London acquaintance, all in black, but for his crisp white shirt. Margaret imagined her godfather had been accurate in his explanation of the power Mr. Thornton yielded in Milton. She could feel his strength, his confidence. He was not someone she would ever wish to cross swords with.

As Mr. Thornton made his comment about the safety of Crampton, her gaze met her father's. They had not, nor would they tell her mother of the dead body in the yard. Had Mr. Thornton heard of the incident? Sergeant Snipes said Mr. Thornton was Milton's Magistrate, but did that mean that Mr. Thornton knew of all the broken laws that occurred Milton? Perhaps he learned of them only when someone stood trial?

"And, Mrs. Hale, have you settled in well?" Mr. Thornton asked softly, as if his usual brusque voice might scare her mother.

"I am trying, Mr. Thornton." Her mother's sigh was so deep the air exhaled could almost be felt by everyone in the room.

"I have asked my mother to call on you tomorrow if it pleases you?" Mr. Thornton said before taking a long sip from his cup.

Margaret saw panic immediately cross her mother's face. It was not a surprise to Margaret, as her mother had barely left her bedroom in the short time they'd been in Milton. Welcoming another stranger in their home, so soon, would naturally alarm her mother.

"How kind of you, Mr. Thornton." Margaret smiled. "We will be happy to receive her."

"She will bring my sister, Fanny, I expect. She is about your age, Miss Hale. Perhaps she can introduce you to some of her friends and help you get settled. While I have spent the whole of my life here in Milton, I can imagine leaving friends behind would be a very difficult thing."

Margaret nodded. "Indeed."

"Have you no other family? Mr. Thornton?" Her father asked. "Do you live with your mother and sister?"

"Yes." Mr. Thornton's narrow chin pointed up. "As the mill master, I live in a home attached to the works. My mother and sister share the home with me."

So, he was not married, and by Margaret's estimation was just above thirty, younger than what Dixon supposed. She wondered suddenly if women of his society were scarce in Milton or perhaps he was too particular in choosing a partner. Of course, he could be involved in a courtship with a woman, and quite properly never mention it.

"More tea, Mr. Thornton?" her father asked.

"No, I thank you." He stood, smiling at each of them in turn and placed his cup and saucer back on the tea tray. "I have had my hour of lessons, a lovely conversation and delightful meeting of Mrs. Hale and Miss Hale. I say this evening has been quite ideal, Mr. Hale and I shall anticipate more such pleasant evenings in the future."

"Good evening, Mrs. Hale." He held out his hand to her mother and she ignored it, as if her attention was off in another place. "Miss Hale." He extended his hand to her and she almost ignored it as her mother had, however she caught her father's abrupt nod and accepted Mr. Thornton's outstretched hand. "Good evening, Mr. Thornton," she answered.

A London man would never shake a woman's hand. Rarely would he even hold her hand, unless they were courting or married. Perhaps this was her first lesson about Milton tradesmen. Deals were often sealed with handshakes among men, perhaps they were also used as greetings and departures, despite the sex of the person.

"I will walk you out," her father told Mr. Thornton.

Once the front door had shut, her father returned to the study.

"Well?" Margaret asked him

Her father refreshed his teacup and took a sip. "I believe it went quite well. Maria, everyone shakes hands up here. He was not being familiar in doing so, it is just the way of the North."

"It seems I have much to learn, Richard." She stood. "I will return to my room now."

"I appreciate you visiting with him, Maria. I will walk you upstairs. Good night, Margaret, my dear. You did very well arranging this room."

"I am glad it suited you, Papa."

The question in Margaret's mind as she watched her mother and father leave the study was whether her mother would be willing to accept the changes coming their way, or fade away as Dixon had suggested to Margaret earlier. Somehow, Margaret had to get her mother out of the house, mingling among people she would approve of. Perhaps the visit from Mrs. Thornton the following day would be sufficient encouragement for her mother to venture outside.

Once they were gone, leaving her to sip another warm cup of tea, her mind wandered to the tall, imposing Mr. Thornton. Her father seemed impressed by the man, and he had always been a good judge of character. She wondered if her father treated him with such deference because he was his first pupil or if Mr. Thornton was worthy of such esteem. She also wondered if she would be required to share tea with him each visit or if their initial meeting today would be sufficient to satisfy her father.

A large yawn escaped her mouth and she stood. Turning around to survey all she had accomplished in that room, despite the dubious beginning of the day, made her feel a sense of satisfaction. The only room in the house left to unpack and situate was her own, and she would see to that the following morning, before the visit from Mrs. Thornton.

Margaret placed her tea cup back on its matching saucer on the tray, lifted it and carried it to the back of the house to the kitchen. She would help out Dixon as much as she could until they could hire a girl to help her. Money would be tight, but with Dixon's age, she needed help, and Margaret's mother would not consider Margaret providing the kitchen help.

With her bedroom just next to the kitchen, Dixon must have heard Margaret enter. She popped her head inside, already wearing her night clothes.

"I'll turn out the light as I go upstairs, Dixon. Mama and Papa have already retired for the evening."

"Bless you, Miss Margaret. Tonight I am quite spent."

"Tomorrow we are to expect Mrs. Thornton for a visit. I'll come down early and help you make some tarts and biscuits for the tea tray."

"So, he is married, then?"

"Mr. Thornton? Oh. No." Margaret chuckled. "Mr. Thornton's mother will be visiting. It seems she is the only Mrs. Thornton. I am hopeful she will help Mama find some reason to leave the house."

"Yes, Miss. It will do well for your dear mother's spirits to explore Milton. Not that I have found anything worthy of your mother's attention, but still…"

"Mr. Thornton did not mention the… incident… from this morning, and Papa and I both intend to keep it from Mama as long as we may."

"I think that is the best course of action, Miss Margaret."

Margaret nodded. "Good night, Dixon."

She left the maid in the kitchen, turned out lights as she went, as well as returning to the study to turn down the lamps. She climbed the stairs, overwhelmed by all that she had to accomplish the following day, while being ready to entertain Mrs. Thornton. She could do it all, God willing a good night sleep was awaiting her.


	3. Chapter 3

" _Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life."_

 _~Sophocles_

Chapter Three

"Are you certain we could not send a note quick enough to reach her, Miss Margaret, and encourage her to come another day? You know they call her the dragon of Marlborough Mills and I would so hate it if you had to meet her head on and all alone."

Dixon was fussing with the collar on Margaret's newest gown. Newest being not very new, nearly eight months old already. The fashion of London society had likely moved on to wider skirts and fuller petticoats but it hardly seemed to matter in Milton. Here more women wore garments fit for Aunt Shaw's rag bag than an evening at an assembly.

"Mama has given me no choice in the matter. Yet again my parents expect that I take charge of the situation. First, Papa would not tell Mama his decision to leave the church. Then, his cowardice prevented him from telling her of the removal to Milton. It was you and I who decided which furniture and goods to transport here to the north, and which ones should be left behind for sale. And now… now here I am once again, forced to entertain Mrs. Thornton, when she was coming expressly to meet Mama."

Margaret shook her head on a sigh. "Dixon the collar will not lay flat. I should have ironed it." That was another task which had fallen upon her shoulders. "I will ask Mrs. Thornton where I might find a young girl to help you. Papa said he would, but since arriving here he has not mentioned it again."

"I wish we could afford to bring Charlotte from Helstone," Dixon said.

"As do I. She was such a fine girl." Margaret said. "Perhaps we could find a way. I know she did not want to move so far from her family, though. We will find such a girl here, or someone who shall suit you equally well."

"Thank you." Dixon fixed a pin in the back of Margaret's hair and took a step back from the dressing table. "I am not as young as I once was, and I fear if your mother will continue to require so much of my attention, the housekeeping will become disorderly. If your father continues to meet with students here, the house must be kept in good order at all times."

Margaret stood from her table with a frown. "Who is it that calls Mrs. Thornton a dragon?"

"I was speaking with Mrs. Williams just this morning as I returned from the market. She caught sight of Mr. Thornton leaving our house last evening, and felt she had to tell me more of the family. She did not imagine Mrs. Thornton would be calling today, was quite shocked when I told her. Mrs. Thornton is not known for making calls, any calls!"

Margaret's stomach dropped as the doorbell chimed. She covered her stomach with her hand as if to ward off the fear that suddenly gripped her. It was that fear that prevented her mother from exiting her bedchamber to do her duty as hostess, passing the obligation along to Margaret instead.

"The dragon is here," Margaret said. She took a deep, steadying breath and followed Dixon from her bedroom. "Ought I find a sword of some sort? Is that not how dragons can be slayed?"

"Use your wit and fine manners instead, Miss Margaret. You will do fine. She will be here no longer than thirty minutes, I am sure. She is likely no worse than the many difficult women you encountered in London Society."

Dixon was correct, of course. Margaret had met many a wicked, mean woman in London and survived each and every encounter, perhaps even emerging stronger from them. They reached the landing and Dixon proceeded to the door. Margaret had only a moment to wonder what Mrs. Thornton might look like before the woman was welcomed inside, followed by a younger girl, who, based on her looks, could only be Miss Thornton.

Margaret smiled in greeting, and as Dixon collected their cloaks and gloves walked forward. "Welcome to our home. I am Margaret Hale."

It was Mrs. Thornton who walked to Margaret first, and held out a hand in greeting, just as her son had the night before. Margaret was prepared this time, however, and felt no awkwardness as she clasped the older lady's hand.

"I am Mrs. Thornton as I am certain you surmised." She turned toward the younger girl. "This is my daughter, John's sister, Fanny."

Fanny did not shake Margaret's hand, only bowed her head as was the traditional greeting among London society. Fanny was dressed very fine, while Mrs. Thornton wore what could only be described as mourning garb. Margaret knew her husband had been deceased for many, many years so there was little reason she continued to wear such clothing.

"It's such a pleasure, and an honor to have you call so soon after our arrival," Margaret said, leading them toward the drawing room.

"John asked us to visit and so we have."

Her replies were as curt and succinct as her son's had been the night before. Certainly not rude, but rather concise and to the point.

Margaret caught sight of Mrs. Thornton studying the home. Looking from the ceiling down to the flooring. Her scrutiny seemed to intensify as she entered the drawing room. Margaret had dusted again that morning, it seemed to be a daily chore in this new home, where soot and dirt permeated the very walls of the place. She had spent a bit of her own money for Dixon to find flowers to decorate the main table in this drawing room, fluffed the pillows and added sprigs of dried lavender in various, concealed places to scent the room just as her Aunt Shaw did in London.

"You may notice my study of your home, Miss Hale. Forgive me if I seem a bit curious." She sat on the davenport near the window, where the lighting was the best on such a gloomy day. "I was in this home, many years ago prior to Mrs. Bell's purchase of these townhomes. He had asked my son to visit them and determine the quality of their construction and whether the price the man was asking was fair. I came along as a second set of eyes."

"Oh, I see." Margaret looked around the room herself, wondering what such lodgings might cost to purchase in a town such as this. Mr. Bell had been very generous with her father in creating a lower rent than many others likely paid. Margaret had been surprised Mr. Bell had required any money from her father at all, given that he was Bell's dearest friend.

"Since the time I was here, obnoxious wallpapers have been removed, and the floors appear to have been refinished and are in very fine condition. The rugs seem fresh as well."

Margaret chuckled. "Those hideous papers have _just_ been removed. My father requested that done before we moved in. Not only were they in this room, but also in my mother's room upstairs and in mine as well. They did not disturb me as I was able to cover them up with my stitching and drawings, but Mr. Bell was good enough to hire a man to remove the papers in here and in my mother's room."

"You draw, Miss Hale?" Miss Thornton asked. "Are you very talented at it? I never had the patience to finish such projects. I would start a new picture, make an error and simply toss it away." She flung her hand through the air as if she was batting at a fly. "Same with needlework. I would begin a new design and give it to Mother to finish."

How unlike her brother, who was so motivated to find success in his endeavors.

"I do draw," Margaret answered with a nod. "Landscapes, not portraits. I find it often takes days to achieve the scene exactly as it should be. Since coming to Milton I have not had the time to do any stitching or drawing. We have concentrated on getting ourselves settled in."

"You mentioned your stitching? Do you embroider?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

"Yes! I believe that is my most favorite way to spend my time. I enjoy any type of needlework. That, and reading. In Helstone, I walked a great deal as well."

Dixon came in with the tea tray then, setting it in front of Margaret, who quickly got to work filling the tea cups just the way each lady requested. Dixon left so silently, Margaret had to look over her shoulder to see if she was still there.

"Is your mother not to join us today, Miss Hale?" Mrs. Thornton asked quietly as she accepted the teacup and saucer from Margaret's hand.

She was so pleased her hands were not shaking as she handed off the tea. Her stomach was filled with butterflies, causing her insides to quiver as her legs had the first time she was ever on a ship.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Thornton, but she is… well… _indisposed_ this afternoon." Margaret sat back against the cushions of her chair. "It came on rather suddenly or I would have certainly sent word to reschedule our visit."

Mrs. Thornton's facial expressions did not change at the news, and Margaret wondered what must be going on in her mind.

"Miss Hale, you have no piano!" Miss Thornton suddenly sputtered. She looked around as if in a panic. "How can you live without a piano?"

Margaret tried to hold back a laugh but she failed. "To move a piano from the vicarage in Helstone would have been a Herculean task. Not to mention excessively expensive."

"But do you not play?" Miss Thornton persisted.

"Fanny plays for several hours each day Miss Hale," Mrs. Thornton explained. "It is her greatest talent, and perhaps next to shopping, what she enjoys most in the world."

"That is true, Mama." Miss Thornton reached for one of the lemon biscuits Margaret baked that morning.

"I play," Margaret answered, smiling. "I have had lessons since I was nine, when I first began visiting my aunt in London. I never came to enjoy it, as much as it seems you do, Miss Thornton."

"Oh do call me Fanny! May I call you Margaret?"

Margaret nodded.

"You must come and visit our home and play," Fanny said between bites. "My teacher says I will never play really well unless I practice. It would be so very sad if you lost your skills for wont of practice."

"Thank you for the invitation, Fanny. I am certain I would enjoy that. I did bring with me my sheet music from London. Perhaps you would like to borrow them?"

"Indeed I would! How kind of you, Margaret."

"I believe it is still in one of the boxes I must unpack, so once I do, I will gladly share. Perhaps I will send it home with Mr. Thornton when he studies with my father on Tuesday evening?"

"Yes, that is a fine idea! I imagine you will not be attending the concert this evening? Since you have just arrived, you would not have known of it, and of course the tickets have been claimed for weeks already. They are usually quite… delicious, except the directors seem to allow anyone to attend, regardless of their society."

 _Meaning who?_ There was no aristocratic society which Margaret was on the fringes of in London. The Thorntons would be considered tradesmen and merchants and therefore perhaps of a middling class. Could those below the Thorntons even afford concert tickets? She thought of the mill workers she had seen walking from the mills to their neighborhoods following the evening whistle. Did such folks even have time to enjoy concerts and assemblies?

"I do enjoy concerts," Margaret finally said. "I saw as many as I could while in London. Just this morning at breakfast my father was talking of the concert for which you speak. It must have been written of in the newspaper."

"How I long to see London!" Fanny wailed. "But as Mama herself has never been, she fails to understand the importance of me visiting. She thinks since she has made it so long without a visit, there is nothing worthwhile to experience."

How odd she spoke of her mother in such a critical way, right in front of her.

"London is spectacular." Margaret smiled, recalling all the marvelous wonders she had experienced there over the course of her ten years of residence. "I believe every British citizen should witness it at least once. Museums, libraries, the parks, concerts, assemblies, all sorts of things to be done. When my father picked me up from my aunt's and brought me home, I realized just how many opportunities I was blessed to experience."

"Your father is out today?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

"He is." Margaret took a sip of tea. "He has three pupils who prefer to visit with him at their home. Today he will meet with two of them."

"How many students does he have at present?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

"Seven. Mr. Bell had lined up five of them before we even left Helstone."

"You are close to Mr. Bell?" Mrs. Thornton continued.

"Yes." Margaret smiled. "He is my godfather. He was my father's mentor when he attended Oxford and since then has become like an uncle to me, part of the family."

"Mr. Bell knew my husband and has been helpful to John over the years."

"He is a good man," Margaret said. She looked between the women. "Would you like more tea?"

"I would," Fanny said quickly, handing Margaret her cup. "A bit more sugar if you please and I would love another lemon biscuit. I have never had anything like it." She took a large bite as Margaret filled the cup. "Mama you must try them."

"Please do, Mrs. Thornton. They were made fresh this morning." _By me._

Margaret handed the cup back to Fanny and filled her own as well. She remembered one of the things she needed to ask Mrs. Thornton just as the older woman reached for a biscuit.

"We are trying to find a younger girl to be an assistant to our maid, Dixon. I'm not certain where to look. I thought perhaps you could point me in the right direction?"

Mrs. Thornton set her cup down and she seemed to be pondering the question. Finally, she answered, "It is hard in this town, and in mill towns in general to find such girls. Most go to the mills where they can receive better wages. I have been lucky to have most of the same servants for years. Of course, I pay them better than the mill and require shorter hours and provide better housing than they could expect in Princeton or the other small neighborhoods where most of the mill employees live."

"The hours would be quite flexible. We would not expect her to work the same long hours as the mill, but we could not provide housing as there is barely room here for the four of us."  
She sat quietly for several moments before answering. "I will ask some of the mothers that work in John's carding room. A few have daughters who do not wish to work in the factories. Some are shop girls who might be able to arrange their schedules to help."

Margaret smiled. "Thank you very much."

"Miss Hale," Mrs. Thornton turned quite serious. "I think I must tell you that I rarely pay calls. It is not in my nature to meet new people and visit acquaintances in general. My son asked that I come to see your mother, and so I have, despite her being indisposed. What I am trying to say is that if I do not call again, you must not be offended. It is just not my way."

"I wish my mother could have met you, then."

"Oh, Margaret, you may call any time, but Mama will not call upon you. Indeed, as soon as your mother is better, you must come to Marlborough Mills. Just send a note a day ahead and we should be glad to host you."

"Have you been to see our factories or the mammoth warehouses here in Milton?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

"Not yet, no." Margaret shook her head. "With settling the house these past few days, the farthest I have traveled is New Street. I must walk everywhere as well, which will no doubt limit my travels."

"Yes, that must be true," Mrs. Thornton agreed. "I simply thought that with your relocation here, to a town which has risen in eminence and notoriety in not only Britain, but the whole world for its textile businesses you would wish to witness the spectacle."

"You do not wish to know anything about them, Margaret!" Fanny said with a snort. "Loud and dirty. That is all they are!"

"Fanny!" Mrs. Thornton growled.

"I think if I were you, Fanny, I should like to know about them, just as I knew my father's sermons by heart and now know what subjects he is tutoring." She turned to the older woman. "Mrs. Thornton I would be pleased to see how a textile business operates. Perhaps on a day I come and play the piano with Fanny, I could also view Marlborough Mills? I do not mean to impose myself upon you, I—"

"Nonsense, you have been invited to our home and I would be pleased to show you John's mill. Every improvement of textile machinery is to be seen there in its highest perfection. As to other businesses in Milton, if you or perhaps your father have an interest seeing a print-works or a reed-making business, I could procure your admission there as well. The Thorntons are well known in Milton, Miss Hale."

The implication was clear. If the Hales had the blessing and approval of the Thorntons, they would be acceptable to the rest of Milton society. It was obvious last evening, John Thornton approved of her father, what would be the report Mrs. Thornton took home with her?

"I would invite your family to join us on Sunday, following church, but we are hosting another family this week. The Slicksons." Mrs. Thornton looked at Fanny and a slow blush crossed the younger woman's cheeks. "The elder Mr. Slickson owns a mill here in Milton, nearly as large as John's."

Mrs. Thornton stood, effectively stating her desire to leave. Margaret rose as well, while Fanny snuck another lemon biscuit and sip of tea before standing.

"Thank you again for calling today," Margaret said, leading them into the hallway where Dixon met them with their outerwear.

"My son asked me to, and I am glad to do the little he asks of me. He does much for our family and this is the least I can do for him. I try to be his anchor in the storm of life."

"How fortunate he is to have such support." Margaret bit the inside of her cheek, nervous about asking for another favor for her new acquaintance. "I wonder, Mrs. Thornton, if I might have a private word with you?"

She frowned, but nodded. "Fanny, do go ahead to the carriage, I shall be but a moment."

"Goodbye Fanny." Margaret smiled at her. "I look forward to seeing you again."

"Likewise, Margaret. Just send a note a day ahead and we shall spend the afternoon playing music together."

When Fanny had departed through the front door, Margaret turned to the maid. "Excuse us, Dixon."

"Yes, Miss Margaret." Dixon walked into the drawing room, likely to clean up the tea leftovers.

"What is it, Miss Hale?" Mrs. Thornton's voice was gruff, but polite.

"My mother…" She swallowed. "I think she needs to be seen by a doctor."

Mrs. Thornton's face softened perceptibly. "She is ill?"

"I am not certain. She has always had a very weak constitution, always seemed fragile and thin. Now, since we have moved here, she has worsened. Her spirits are so very low, Mrs. Thornton, so much so that she refuses to leave her room unless my father is home and only for meals."

"John met her last night." Mrs. Thornton reminded her.

"My father was quite stern with her yesterday. She really did not have a choice but to meet with Mrs. Thornton last evening. I tried to be equally firm today, as she knew you were coming since last night, but she soundly refused to leave her room." Margaret swallowed back the tears that were slowly forming. "I am at a loss, Mrs. Thornton, but perhaps a doctor might be able to provide some guidance on how to help her?"

Mrs. Thornton stared at Margaret for several minutes, not a single expression crossing her face. "Robert Donaldson is the man we see for our medical needs. I will take Fanny home and then go see him for you and ask that he call on your mother."

"Oh, thank you." Margaret squeezed Mrs. Thornton's arm, but pulled back quickly when the older woman's entire body tensed. "Excuse me."

She ignored the contact and instead said, "I will ask that he come yet today, Miss Hale. Thank you for the tea and biscuits."

"It was my pleasure. I do hope you consider coming again one day." Margaret opened the door for Mrs. Thornton and stood aside as she passed by her. She stood on the stair, watching the carriage pull away and only then closed the door.

Margaret slid the plank of wood through the loop and pushed off the door, heading to find Dixon, who was still in the drawing room cleaning up crumbs from Fanny's chair.

"I made it, Dixon."

"So I see, none the worse for wear. And not eve a full thirty minutes!" Dixon laughed. "They ate all your biscuits."

Margaret laughed. "Fanny must have hidden some in her purse when I looked away. She enjoyed them greatly. If I visit their home I shall bring some along for her."

"And you worried they were not fine enough for your guests."

Margaret plopped on a chair with a deep sigh. "Mrs. Thornton is going to ask for names of young girls who might consent to work as your assistant."

"That is very good of her."

"Indeed," Margaret agreed. "She is also sending a doctor to see Mama."

"Oh dear. Your mama will not be pleased by that."

"I suppose not, Dixon, but what else are we to do?"

Dixon sighed. "I have never seen her like this and as you know, I have been with her for nearly forty years."

Margaret gave her a wan smile. "I know, Dixon. She would be lost without your support and friendship. Dr. Donaldson is the man's name. He will come yet today. We should be with her when he visits. I will explain to Papa when he comes home."

Margaret watched Dixon carry the tea tray from the room and then closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair. She didn't know exactly what to think about Mrs. Thornton. It was obvious she was committed to her son, and that her daughter was nothing like her son. Margaret could see how people might see Mrs. Thornton as tough as a dragon. There was nothing gentle or friendly or soft about her. She was all business, all seriousness, so unlike her own mother. Mrs. Thornton had been terribly polite and helpful, however, and because of that, Margaret was happy the Thorntons had visited.

"You have overstepped, Margaret."

She and her mother were sitting at the dining table, waiting for Margaret's father to join them for supper. Finally, her mother had left her room. It was from anger, and a need to chastise Margaret in front of her father, rather than a real desire to leave her room.

"Richard you will not believe what your daughter did today!" her mother started.

"Oh?" he asked. "From the fierce expression on your face, I would gander she did something you did not approve of?" he asked, taking his place at the head of the rectangular table.

"She had Mrs. Thornton fetch a doctor for me," her mother said.

"And you feel that was a bad thing?" he asked.

"Richard I do _not_ need a doctor."

"Well, what do you need, Maria? You can hardly stay in your room for the remainder of your days. You cannot moan and groan and whine about how awful Milton is, without even experiencing in the town." He unfolded his napkin and placed it upon his lap. "Dixon and Margaret have both expressed their concern for your health. Your behavior since arriving here has been very unusual. After thirty years as your husband, I know you well, and something is not as it should be."

Dixon brought in the roast and set it next to Margaret's father. The potatoes were passed from her mother and Margaret added a piece of bread to her plate. She was not very hungry.

When Dixon left, closing the door behind her, Margaret's mother pounced on her father. "Do you mean to tell me you knew she was asking Mrs. Thornton to find a doctor for me?"

"I did not." He shook his head. He added potatoes to his plate. "But, I also did not expect you to refuse to visit with Mrs. Thornton and her daughter. You promised me you would visit with them today and instead you left it up to our young daughter to be hostess to these strangers by herself."

"You told him, Margaret?" How forlorn she looked.

"I did not," Margaret answered.

"Dixon informed me both of the doctor's and the Thornton ladies visits."

"Ladies," her mother snorted. "They are _women_ , not the type of ladies I have known in London."

"Both of them have fine manners, Mama," Margaret stated. "It was not a difficult visit at all. Indeed, I was glad to meet people who were part of Milton, people who have lived here long enough to know the town and its people. Mrs. Thornton not only offered to ask Dr. Donaldson to call, but will also collect the names of young girls who might be willing and able to help Dixon."

"I do not like this involvement with tradespeople. Not one bit." Her mother shook her head so hard, her lace bonnet fell to the ground.

"Papa," Margaret started as she stood to pick up her mother's hat, "Mama is angry because Dr. Donaldson was very firm with her. His wife is part of a sewing circle that meets twice weekly. Altogether, there are twelve women and their daughters in the group. He said it would be a good opportunity for Mama and I to meet the women of our station who reside in Milton."

Margaret returned to her seat and continued eating.

"You do not like this idea, Maria?"

His face was scrunched in confusion, just as Margaret felt. How could she not like the idea? Her mother loved to sew, and if it were with women like her, why would she be so disagreeable?

"He said if I do not go, he will come and pick me up himself! How dare he threaten me in such a way!"

"That is rather disturbing." Her father looked troubled.

"He was jesting with you, Mama. You had worked yourself up into such a hysteria you did not even realize it." She gave her mother a hard look and then turned to her father. "The doctor gave her medicine to take twice daily and Dixon has promised to see that she takes it."

"I do not need medicine. I am not ill."

"If that is so, why did you refuse to meet with Mrs. Thornton today?" Margaret asked.

"I do not wish to associate with anyone in this town, Margaret. I will simply stay cooped up here until your father decides we can leave." Her voice dropped. "Anywhere would be better than here."

Margaret caught her father's eye and shook her head in frustration.

"I have no plans to leave here, Maria."

"You had no plans to leave Helstone but then suddenly Margaret was seeing to the details of a removal. Who's to say you will not make another rash decision?"

"I picked up another student today," he said, perhaps in an attempt to change the subject. "I am pleased how my name is being shared with people who wish to learn and expand their knowledge."

"Congratulations," Margaret said with feeling. "Is he young?"

"He is hoping to pass the entrance exam for Oxford," her father said. "He and I will be working until April, when he will take the test. He is a bright young man, I see no reason for him not to be accepted."

"Perhaps you could even have Mr. Bell recommend him?" Margaret suggested.

"Yes. I did consider that." He took a long sip of wine and wiped his mouth. "Tell me what you discussed with Mrs. Thornton and her daughter. Is the daughter your age?"

"Her name is Fanny and I think she may be three or four years older than I am. I have never been a very good judge of ages. Mrs. Thornton came dressed fully in black." Margaret shook her head. "I do not understand it. She cannot still be in mourning so many years after the elder Mr. Thornton's passing. Even her lace collar was black."

"It is so dirty here, perhaps even dirtier in her home right at the mill, black may be the only thing to keep clean," her mother said on a sigh.

"Fanny was wearing a wide skirted, three-tiered orange and white striped silk gown," Margaret said. "Her skirt was so wide I was concerned she would not fit through the drawing room door."

"My sister tells me the fashionable of London are wearing wider skirts this fall. If you were still with her, Margaret, you could be dressed just as fine."

"Why would I be with her when I can be with my parents? I was in London only as Edith's companion. I was given many benefits as such, but I am right where I belong. If my dresses are a few seasons out of date, who will care? I have no one to impress in Milton, Mama. In London, I was forever trying to live up to Aunt Shaw's expectations for me. Here I can be myself, and no one will expect anything else, because they know me in no other way."

How freeing it was! She could use the manners and behavior she had learned over the years, but also try new things, find what was natural for her, what made her happy, without worry of censure from Aunt Shaw.

"You must comport yourself as my sister has taught you," her mother said. "You will behave as you always have, Margaret. I will not have you gossiped about."

"As I was in London?"

"Who gossiped about you in London?" her father demanded.

"Everyone. Everyone talked about everyone in our circle. It was horrible, always trying to do more or be better in some way than a supposed friend. There were times I did not even trust Edith my thoughts because she often blurted out private things without a second thought." Margaret sighed. "Here, I have no worries about my private business being shared. I can guard my thoughts and activities because no one cares about me and what I do."

"That will change in time, my dear," her father said.

"Why do you say that? I do not expect to be included in many activities," Margaret said. "I will go with Mama to the sewing circle and help out Dixon unless we find a girl. I see very little occasion to meet many people here."

"You will be noticed, my dear," her father assured her. "You carry yourself so well, are such a lovely young girl, you will be remarked upon by many. In fact, today I purchased tickets for the next concert. It is to be held in a fortnight at the Lyceum Concert Hall. It features a pianist named Julius Benedict." He leaned forward excitedly. "Supposedly, he worked with Jenny Lind for a time."

"Jenny Lind? I saw her in London years ago. She's been in American for several years, I believe." How exciting to have such a talented performer here in Milton. "She is an incredible singer."

"I could have gotten a single ticket for tonight's concert, although it was a singer I had never heard of and I did not want to go alone, of course."

"Fanny was going to that concert this evening," Margaret said. "According to her, it had been sold out for quite a few weeks, that all the musicals sell out quickly in Milton."

"At least there is some culture in Milton," her mother said.

Margaret closed her eyes on a sigh. Her mother's dreary attitude was more wearing on her than the Thornton's visit had been.

"Thank you for paying the call to the Hale's home today, Mother. Fanny I am pleased you joined her."

John kissed her on the forehead before heading to the opposite end of the table and sitting down. It had been an exceptionally long day, but he had tickets to take Fanny to the concert that evening and he would do so. Just the thought of the tantrum she would throw if he backed out made him cringe inside.

"Mrs. Hale was indisposed," his mother said. "We visited just with the daughter."

John dug into his boiled potatoes with vigor. He had not taken a lunch today and his stomach had been reminding him for hours of his hunger. Friday was payday, and thus he had extra paperwork to attend to. He always tried to complete the ledgers on Thursday evenings, but now with his lessons, that arrangement would have to change.

He did not want to ask what his mother thought of Miss Hale. He had formed a very favorable opinion of her, but knew she was not someone his mother would immediately like. She was a true lady, a southerner, with London refinements rarely, if ever, seen in Milton. If he gave her an inkling of his attraction to the brown-eyed beauty, she would never let the matter drop, and come up with dozens of excuses why he should avoid any interaction.

"I thought Mrs. Hale looked a bit pale last evening. Of course never having met her before, I could not know. She spoke very little, had a very soft voice."

"I had forgotten how small those Crampton townhomes are," his mother commented. "They have made good use of the space which they have."

"I cannot see how they can live without a piano," Fanny complained. "Margaret, she said I could call her thus, says she enjoys playing but they had to leave their instrument behind. Oh, yes, John." Fanny turned on him. "On Tuesday, when you go to study with Mr. Hale, she said she would give you some sheet music for me that she brought with her from London. I'm not certain if it's music I already have or not, but I am excited to see her taste. You may need to remind her. She said it was still packed."

"It is too bad I did not know of her interest in music," he commented. "I could have gotten tickets to this evening's concert for them."

He looked up from his plate to see his mother staring at him.

"Well?" he asked.

"Do not get too attached to these Hales." Her voice was quite gruff. "I respect your wishes to attend lessons with Mr. Hale. But, to be clear, I do not think we should involve ourselves with them to any greater degree. Miss Hale asked that I send for a doctor for her mother and so I sent Dr. Donaldson. She also asked that I assist her in finding a girl to help her maid around the house. I will also see to that duty, but it is there that my commitment to them ends."

"Mother," he growled. "I have no intention of involving myself with anyone other than Mr. Hale. I know you are concerned I may be snared by Miss Hale, as you always worry when I meet a new young lady, but that connection would be highly unlikely. She and I come from very different worlds, and after meeting her, and her mother, I have real doubt they will be strong enough to survive in Milton for very long."

His mother's eyebrow quirked. "And Mr. Hale?"

"He is a fine man, as fine as Mr. Bell promised." He smiled. Mr. Hale was a real gentleman, just as Mr. Bell. "He will challenge me in ways I have not be challenged for years. I like him. I enjoyed being in his company."

"You deserve happiness, my son, just proceed with caution."

He took a sip of wine and then saluted her. "I will, Mother. I always do."


	4. Chapter 4

" _Art is never finished, only abandoned."_

 _-Leonardo DiVinci_

Chapter Four

Dr. Donaldson's carriage arrived precisely at a quarter 'til two. To the surprise of Margaret and her mother, he came with the carriage, rather than just sending it for them, and greeted them at their door.

"Ah, Mrs. Hale," he said, "you decided not to test my threat, eh?" He laughed good naturedly. "I most certainly would have somehow encouraged your attendance at my wife's sewing meeting. May I carry your bags?"

"No," her mother answered. "It is quite light and I am certain Margaret can to see to her own." She walked past both of them, nose in the air and with the help of the coachman, climbed aboard.

Margaret bit her lip to avoid laughing at her mother. They had been arguing daily since Donaldson's last visit. The medicine seemed to improve her other's energy, if not her spirits. She did not want to go today, of course, but Margaret reminded her mother of Donaldson's threat and that seemed sufficient to get her out of bed and dressed.

Once inside the carriage, Dr. Donaldson asked, "Miss Hale, what do you think of our Cathedral?"

"I found it quite lovely," she said. "I did not expect it to be so large inside. Mother, they have done some striking renovations only recently."

"You must come this week, Mrs. Hale. The Bishop will be addressing the congregation."

Her mother continued staring out the window, ignoring Donaldson's comment. The doctor caught Margaret's eye and winked at her. "In fact, Mary and I would be glad to come for you."

"That will not be necessary," her mother snapped. "We can arrange our own transportation."

"Thank you for the offer, Doctor," Margaret said, smiling. Dr. Donaldson obvious understood her mother's behavior. "I also thank you for coming for us today. I fear Mother and I would have become lost should we have tried to locate your home."

"It was my pleasure. I saw three patients already this morning, had lunch with my wife and now have come to collect you before going out once again."

They turned off New Street onto a side road and the carriage stopped in front of a dark brick, two story home. It was nearly the size of her Aunt Shaw's home in London, but the landscape and outdoor decorations could not compare to her aunt's. There were no statues or fountains or flowers of any sort decorating the walk.

Dr. Donaldson stepped down and helped out each woman before climbing right back inside. "Good day, ladies. Enjoy your sewing meeting."

The carriage pulled away, leaving Margaret and her mother to approach the front door. It was not yet two o'clock, the assigned time for the meeting, but as the doctor had brought them himself, his wife could hardly be surprised by their arrival.

"Margaret, wait." Her mother pulled on her arm to halt her. "I cannot go in. This will not due."

Margaret frowned. It would be easy to acquiesce to her mother's wishes as she herself was not overly excited by the prospect of spending time with strangers. Knowing her mother had to somehow become involved in the community, Margaret was determined they would mingle, even if the society was not quite as high as her mother had hoped.

"We must go in." She knew her mother was anxious, could read it in her eyes. She walked forward and took her mother's thin hand. "We must interact with people. I do not think Papa will relocate from Milton any time soon so we must become part of the society here, else we will reside in isolation."

"But in Helstone—"

"We are not in Helstone." How many times had her mother uttered that phrase over the course of the past week? "You must not compare our situation here to there. There are very few similarities. Indeed, it as if we have all taken on a new life."

"But are we to mingle with mill wives, and shop keeper's wives?" Her mother shook her head. "I was once among the gentry Margaret. And now…" She sighed.

"Yes, Mrs. Hale, mill wives and mothers." Mrs. Thornton had approached from behind without their notice.

"Hello." Margaret smiled as brightly as she could at the newcomer. How embarrassing to be caught in such a discussion. "Mrs. Thornton, this is my mother, Maria Hale."

Mrs. Thornton politely held out her hand, but as she had done to Mr. Thornton, her mother failed to reciprocate. Mrs. Thornton's jaw stiffened and she tipped up her head.

"The women inside Mrs. Donaldson's home might be beneath your notice were you in your fancy homes in London, Mrs. Hale, yet here, in Milton, they are the finest of society." She glanced at Margaret, gave her a polite nod, and stepped around them to enter the door, held open by a maid.

Margaret closed her eyes on a sigh. _Poorly done, Mama_.

"Let us get this over with, shall we?" her mother said. "Mrs. Thornton is no more agreeable than her son."

Margaret almost began to argue with her mother's assessment, but stopped herself. In truth, she rather liked Mrs. Thornton. Although her dialect or accented voice was different from women in the south, London in particular, she still carried herself as well as any refined lady Margaret had ever met.

The maid was still standing by the door, awaiting their entrance. Margaret led the way, hoping her mother would not turn around and hire a gig back to Crampton. The confrontation with Mrs. Thornton was enough to make Margaret question the decision to come. What must Mrs. Thornton be thinking?

The maid was very friendly and quickly took their outerwear in the foyer before leading them down the main hallway, every inch of its walls decorated with paintings and stitching and portraits. They were guided into the room at the farthest end, where women's voices could be heard. Again, Margaret led the way, and was immediately greeted by an older, plump woman with a radiant smile.

"You must be the Hales!" The woman rushed to the door and took Margaret's hands, gripping and shaking them briskly before tipping her head toward Margaret's mother. "I am Mary Donaldson!"

"Hello!" Margaret exclaimed. "I am so glad to be here. Your husband was so kind to invite us and more so to bring us here."

"He was afraid you might get turned around and lost since you are new to Milton. Now come ladies, meet some of the others from our group."

Mrs. Donaldson took Margaret's hand and led her toward the large windows where a circle of chairs and sofas were set to take advantage of the best lighting in the room. After a quick count of heads, Margaret realized there would be seven others, including Mrs. Thornton.

"Well, ladies, we have a new mother and daughter to join us!" Mrs. Donaldson turned toward Margaret. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are here, Miss Hale. We are anxious to have younger women in our group. Penelope Slickson comes most times with her mother Olivia." Mrs. Donaldson pointed to a blonde headed woman and the older woman to her right. "She is very talented with the needle and piano as well."

Mrs. Donaldson continued to name the women in the room, until they reached Mrs. Thornton, who said, I what Margaret thought a strained voice, "We are already acquainted."

There was a place available on a sofa, which her mother was guided toward. That left a chair open for Margaret, but a big fluffy cat was already in residence, giving her an evil eye.

"Ah yes, Miss Fluff." Mrs. Donaldson leaned forward and picked up the cat and set her on the ground. The insolent cat turned its head toward Margaret with a glare. "There you are, Miss Hale."

"Margaret, please," she said. "She's a lovely cat."

"I prefer dogs." A woman, across the way said. Margaret thought she was called Mrs. Hamper. "I have a small poodle that rarely leaves my side at home."

Margaret never had animals growing up. Her mother and Aunt Shaw both thought they were dirty creatures. Edith had begged for a kitten one Christmas, but despite usually catering to her daughter's every whim, Aunt Shaw did not give way.

"You will meet her, Mrs. Hale, if you and Miss Hale join us next week," Mrs. Hamper continued. "We trade houses each week."

Margaret felt her mother's anxiety rise at the thought of hosting a group of strangers. Margaret immediately began planning in her mind how they could accommodate eight women in their small house. It could work. The important thing was getting her mother to participate in something- anything- in Milton.

The women turned their attention back to their handiwork. Everyone, except one woman, whose name Margaret had already forgotten, were stitching. The unique one was knitting a blanket in different shades of blue.

"That is a lovely blanket," Margaret said as she pulled out her materials to begin stitching. "Blue is my favorite color."

"Mine as well," the lady answered. "My daughter will have our first grandchild in the spring and I am hopeful to have this complete well before then. Where are you from? I do not recognize your accent."

"We are from Helstone," her mother answered. She had begun stitching already. "Margaret spent most of her time in London, with my sister."

"What part of London, Miss Hale?" the lady continued. "My daughter and her new husband have just settled there."

"In Harley Street," Margaret answered.

"I am not familiar with all the areas, I suppose. I know my son-in-law resides in Mayfair. Is Harley Street close?"

"Yes." Margaret nodded. "Quite close. I walked through the area almost every day."

"You enjoy walking?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

"I do," Margaret answered, smiling at her. "In Helstone, I spent much of my time outside. There were beautiful tall trees and pathways." She smiled remembering the full days she spent wandering aimlessly, with not a worry in the world. "I have yet to find good walking paths here in Milton," Margaret continued. "Are there such places nearby, where I might walk?"

"There are," Mrs. Thornton answered nodding. "They can be difficult to locate, and as I understand, are not as large as some of the London parks."

Margaret wished to ask her where she could go, but perhaps the next time they met she would inquire. For now, she listened as the women, who clearly knew each other quite well, discussed their families and daily lives. It was nice to simply be surrounded by new people, to already feel accepted in this group.

"You are married, Mrs. Hale?" Mrs. Slickson.

"Yes," her mother answered.

"My husband is one of the mill masters. Mrs. Hamper is also married to a mill man. Mrs. Lewis, is married to a wool trader." That was the woman's name! "Mrs. Thornton, is a widow. Mrs. Latimer is married to one of the bankers. You see, we come from a variety of backgrounds, but we all have the love of handiworks in common."

"Are there stores in Milton that carry threads and yarns?" Margaret was in need of a few new colors for a different project she wanted to undertake.

"There are," Mrs. Lewis answered. "One of my sons, Rupert, owns a shop on New Street simply called _Threads_. He also carries linen and fabrics for clothing."

"It is a wonderful store," Mrs. Donaldson said. "I go there at the very least once per week."

"He delivers as well," Mrs. Slickson said. "I was recently ill, and he was very kind to see that I had the materials I needed to remain occupied as I healed."

"Have you a beau, Miss Hale?" Mrs. Lewis asked.

Margaret flushed at the unexpected and rather impertinent question. "Ah, no. We have only just arrived in Milton."

"Yes, I know, but have you come here with an attachment?" Mrs. Lewis pressed.

Henry Lennox's image briefly fluttered through her mind. She shook her head. "No. I have no commitment to anyone at present."

"Ladies, do not begin your matchmaking!" Mrs. Donaldson clicked her tongue. "Let the lass get her feet set firmly on the ground."

That quieted the ladies for a bit, but not long enough in Margaret's opinion, as the next lady to speak had an annoying, rather nasally voice and equally annoying, air of superiority.

"Miss Hale, my daughter, Anne, has just returned from Switzerland," Mrs. Latimer said. "She attended one of the most prestigious finishing schools there. Have you had such an opportunity?"

"No, I did not attend such an institution." Margaret was careful to use that word as it was an effective description of the places. From what her aunt told her, these schools simply turned out women, one right after another, with the same behaviors, look, and superior attitudes.

"That is a shame. I believe every young woman of means should attend such a school."

"Did you attend one, Mrs. Latimer?" Margaret asked.

"I did not." Her face darkened. "I wanted better for my daughter, thus, her father and I encouraged her attendance."

"London has many diversions I enjoyed," Margaret said. She turned to Mrs. Donaldson, a friendly face in the circle. "I understand there is a new theater in Milton? Lyceum Hall?"

"Yes, indeed," Mrs. Hamper answered. "All our husbands supported the building of the theater. They offer frequent concerts, dance assemblies, and an occasional musical or play."

The maid that welcomed them in the house arrived with tea and biscuits, and the women set aside their work to partake in the snack. Margaret had noticed that Mrs. Thornton continually looked her way, looking for what, Margaret did not understand, but looking at her just the same.

She accepted tea from Mrs. Donaldson and sat back against the chair to enjoy it. Her mother had yet to say ten words to anyone. She was a quiet woman by nature, but to remain so silent, seemed almost rude. She was here to interact with new women, to meet people in Milton, so she could begin to feel as if she were a part of their new city. If she continued to fight it, Margaret knew she would be miserable.

She looked timid, frail and pale sitting against the blood red upholstered davenport. Perhaps Margaret should suggest leaving? Her mother should be able to interact for a bit longer, should she not? They were the last to arrive, they should not be the first to leave. That would indeed be rude.

"Mrs. Hale, what sort of business is your husband involved in?"

Mrs. Latimer, was the lady to ask the most difficult question for Margaret's mother to answer. Margaret knew this was a subject her mother was uncomfortable discussing. She had not yet accepted her husband's new employment, and discussing it was difficult for her.

"My husband was a clergyman for nearly thirty years." Her voice was weak, quiet.

"And now?" Mrs. Latimer pressed.

Margaret hated the woman. How could that be? She had no reason to feel so negative toward a person she had just met, but the woman gave off the most horrid sensation.

"He is a tutor."

"A tutor? Who does he tutor in Milton?" Mrs. Latimer laughed.

Margaret glanced at Mrs. Thornton, who met her eyes, but said nothing.

"A great many parents wish to provide a good education for their children, just as you yourself did for your daughter," Margaret said, knowing her mother was close to falling to pieces. "My father has already secured nearly a dozen pupils. Several were already contracted prior to our arrival, thanks to the assistance of Mr. Adam Bell."

"Mr. Bell? Your father knows him?" Mrs. Slickson asked.

"Mr. Bell is my godfather," Margaret answered with a small smile. "He and my father are the very best of friends."

"Well, that explains, why you have come to Milton," Mrs. Hamper said. "You live in one of his properties?"

Margaret nodded, swallowing her sip of tea. "We do."

"Well, I suppose if you cannot afford to live in this neighborhood, Crampton is adequate," Mrs. Latimer said.

There always had to be one woman in every party to ruin it.

John tipped his head to the side, stretching. He had been sitting far too long that day, and the more he attempted to decipher his Greek lesson, the more his head began to pound. He hated to quit so soon, he had been at the Hale home only for a mere thirty minutes, but his head was protesting.

"Mr. Hale, I fear I must cease studying this evening." He frowned at Mr. Hale. "It has been a very long day and I apologize but I think I must cut this lesson short."

"Oh, forgive me, Mr. Thornton. I neglected to notice your struggles."

"It is just a headache. I looked at ledgers all day." He grinned despite his pain. "Although literature and languages are my true love, I find myself spending the vast majority of my time with numbers and math."

"Shall I fetch some soothing syrup?"

"No, but I thank you for the offer."

"Tea?"

"No." John shook his head. "I think it best for me to simply return home for the night." He stood, feeling a rush of blood swarm to his head. He took a deep breath and the sensation abated.

"My wife and daughter will be sad to have missed visiting with you this evening, but of course, they will understand."

Mr. Hale walked him into the foyer where John picked up his hat and gloves. Dixon appeared with his coat which he shrugged into.

"Tomorrow is a market day as well." John chuckled. "More numbers."

"It is my hope you will feel more like yourself in the morning!"

"Good night, Mr. Hale." Before he turned toward the door, he heard a noise on the stairway behind them. "Hello, Miss Hale."

Lord, she was a beauty.

"You're leaving already, sir? Have I come late?" she asked.

"No, it is entirely my fault," he answered. "My head is not in my studies this evening."

"He is not feeling well, Margaret," Mr. Hale said.

"Oh, I am sorry to hear that. May I fetch you something before you leave?"

Her concern was genuine, and as she descended the rest of the stairs and neared him standing at the door, he found himself wavering, wanting to stay and allow her to care for him. How odd. He could not recall the last time he had looked at a woman with interest.

"No, I thank you, Miss Hale. I will return Thursday. Good evening." He tipped his head and walked outside the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Thornton." Her voice quietly trailing after him.

Cold air slapped him in the face. Perhaps that is what his head would benefit from, fresh air. Well, as fresh as the air in Milton could ever be. His walk back to Marlborough Mills was slower than usual. It seemed the faster he walked the harder his head pounded. Fortunately, he rarely got these serious headaches, but when he did, they were rough.

As soon as the gates of Marlborough Mills came into sight, he felt the muscles in his neck relax. Only a few more steps and his head could rest on his pillow. He opened the front door of the mill house himself, but soon Jane, the maid, was in the foyer, collecting his gear. Once divested of the extra clothing, he went upstairs and stopped in his mother's sitting room.

"Good evening, Mother."

She had a book open in her lap, but he thought she might have been napping.

"John! How do you come to be home so early tonight?"

He chuckled. So many people concerned with his well-being.

"I have a bad headache. I could not focus upon my studies tonight, so I begged Mr. Hale's forgiveness and left him early."

"Would you like some willow bark tea?"

He shook his head and picked up the stack of mail resting on the table inside the sitting room door. He tossed it back on the table, his vision too blurry to read.

"Did you by chance see Mrs. Hale this evening?" she asked.

"I did not."

"Oh."

"Why do you ask?" he wondered.

"I met her for the first time today. She is rather… timid."

"I believe you are right," he agreed.

"I wondered if she joined you this evening as she had following your studies last time? When she and Miss Hale left, she looked quite wrung out."

"I ended too early for the ladies to join us this evening."

"She and Miss Hale seem quite different from each other."

"Much like you and Fanny?" he grinned.

"Not quite. Miss Hale appears to be much more confident than her mother. Indeed, Mrs. Hale was rather frail. I do not believe she said more than ten words the entire time we were together at the Donaldson's house."

He thought back to the last meeting he had with Mrs. Hale.

"She is very quiet. I wonder if she is uncomfortable near people she is not acquainted with?"

"Perhaps." His mother shrugged and then sighed deeply. "It is hard to befriend someone who is not interested in having a friend."

"I imagine so," he said. "Miss Hale and her father are both welcoming."

"Miss Hale did rather well for herself with the sewing ladies today. In truth, I was proud of her, not that I have a right. She even took on Mrs. Latimer without backing down."

"Truly?"

His mother laughed. "It was entertaining. Add to that she is very talented with her needle and drawings; I do find her quite acceptable."

"Acceptable?" he asked, raising his brows.

"Yes." She nodded. "I think she will be an asset to Milton. I would be willing to help her settle into Milton, if she needs any assistance. In my opinion, her mother has no interest in becoming a part of this community."

"Perhaps in time she will change her mind. I do not believe Mr. Hale will choose to leave Milton anytime soon!" He leaned forward and kissed her head. "Good night, Mother."

John was not willing to talk about the Hales any more this evening. He had other things on his mind, like the cotton auction in the morning, the possibility of a strike looming and his pounding headache.

He changed quickly into his night attire, pleased the maids had drawn the bed back for him and stoked the fireplace. Crawling into bed, he hoped he would simply pass out, but instead of seeing blackness, he saw only the concerned face of Miss Hale offering to soothe his aching head.


	5. Chapter 5

"Truth is so rare, it is delightful to tell it"

-Emily Dickinson

Chapter Five

Margaret had a simple plan for her Wednesday. She wished only to unpack the boxes in her bedroom and create a place where she could draw and write her letters without being disturbed. She had accomplished the creation of an organized home for the rest of her family, but she left her own comforts for last. Rejoining her parents added great responsibility to her life. She wondered how they even functioned without her. Neither seemed capable of making a even the most simplest of decisions. Thank goodness for Dixon. She had kept the household from falling apart the years Margaret had lived in London.

Within in the new house, the rooms had been divvied up before their furniture had arrived from Helstone. Her father had both a bedroom and his study. Her mother was given the largest bedroom, which enabled Margaret to split the spacious room into two distinct areas for her mother; the sleeping area and a sitting spot. At some point, Margaret would locate a screen of some sort to truly divide the areas. If her mother refused to come downstairs, Margaret would do as she could to make her room comfortable. Dixon disagreed, thinking the more uncomfortable, the more likely her mistress would be to join the family downstairs. Margaret did not know what the right answer was, but perhaps the longer her mother was here, the more accepting she would become.

One could hope.

About half passed ten, the doorbell jingled and a minute or so later, Dixon came to collect Margaret.

"Sergeant Snipes is calling, Miss Margaret," the maid said. "Mr. Hale is out, and your mother…"

Margaret did not need further clarification. Her mother had yet to rise and even if she were awake, Snipes would be the last person Margaret would want her to see.

Margaret sighed. "Tell him I will meet with him." It was not as if she had a choice in the matter. A man had been murdered on her back steps.

Once Dixon left, Margaret rose from her sitting position on the floor. She clapped the dust off her hands and her skirt before descending the stairs. Her stomach knotted; worried what Snipes had to tell her. She did not want to keep the Sergeant waiting, and yet she wished to delay the meeting, fearful of what he had to say. She took a deep, calming breath before entering the sitting room; her skirts swished as she joined Snipes.

Snipes was looking through the books on one of her father's bookshelves, but turned as she came in. His look turned serious when he met her eyes.

"Good day, sir." She greeted him with a smile, hoping it might soften the man's countenance.

"Hello, Miss Hale." He tipped his head in greeting. "Your maid said your father is out?"

"He is," she confirmed with a slight nod. "He tutors daily at all different times, but always this time of the morning."

"Yes. I do recall you said that," he answered. "I will only take up a bit of your time. I must review your story, and that of your maid before I finalize my report. I also have had a sketch drawn up to be placed in the newspapers so we might identify the man. I would like you and your maid to verify that the man in the sketch is the man you saw on your back steps."

"I will do whatever is needed to help, Sergeant. Please, do have a seat." She waved toward the chair her mother occupied when she was kind enough to join the family downstairs.

"Thank you for your willingness to help. This has likely been a difficult situation for you." Once she was seated across from him, he sat. "Did you happen to recall anything new since Monday when we visited?"

She shook her head. "I told you everything I knew at that time."

He smiled kindly. "That was quite the day for you."

"It was," she agreed.

"May I review your story with you?" He pulled a file from under his arm and began pulling papers from it.

"Of course," she answered. She relaxed against the back of the chair and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for his questions.

He pulled a pair of spectacles from the breast pocket of his uniform coat. He looked up. "I would like to speak with Miss Dixon as well, if you will allow it?"

"Of course," she repeated. She wanted to conclude this situation as quickly as could be.

He looked down at his papers. "The truth of these details is vital, Miss Hale. If you are uncertain about something do not state it as fact. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I have no reason to lie."

He stared hard at her and the looked down at his papers. "You arrived at my office Monday morning to report a dead man on your back steps. You were accompanied by Mrs. Williams, who lives just down the street from this residence." He named her address.

With a pause, he glanced up.

"Yes," she agreed.

He looked back down at his lap where the papers neatly rested. "We, myself and three other officers, whose names I have listed here, came to your house and found the man in the back, dead, just as you reported. You explained to me your maid was headed to the market out the back door and she screamed. You were here in this room and went to see what she was screaming about."

He paused again.

"Yes."

"You told me you saw him bleeding from his neck and almost immediately slammed the door, went back inside the house, and sat on a chair at the table because you felt ill. Miss Dixon was already back in the kitchen by that time. You asked Miss Dixon to go to my office, she refused, so you went on foot. Only you and Miss Dixon saw the dead man, but you did tell Mrs. Williams about him before you arrived at my office. Your father was out tutoring a student, and he had left approximately two hours earlier through the front door. You did not open either the front or back door that morning prior to your maid's scream. Your mother was still in her room, had not come downstairs and she did not see anything."

"She still does not know," Margaret whispered. "She is in very low spirits, struggling to settle in here."

"I am sorry to hear that," Snipes said. His expression showed genuine concern. "I hope that will soon change."

"I do as well."

"And you, Miss Hale?" he tilted his head. He looked different with his spectacles, older perhaps. "Are you settling?" His stare was a bit _un_ settling. Did he really care how she was doing or was he simply being polite?

She slowly nodded. "My father and I are becoming more comfortable, I believe. It is quite a change from the society of London and rustic Hampshire." She shrugged. "He and I are adjusting the best we can. My father has secured nearly a dozen students already. The steady income will calm worries. The house is almost fully unpacked. I am hopeful my mother will find some pleasure in living here, once we understand all Milton has to offer."

He stared at her several more moments. Did he wish to say something? Had she overshared? Instead of commenting, he merely nodded thoughtfully, and returned his focus to the business at hand. "Upon our arrival, the officers and I carefully studied the scene and then the man's body was wrapped and taken away in a wagon to the morgue. There was no real evidence save his body itself. Need I repeat his cause of death?"

She sighed and bent her head to study her hands resting in her lap. "His throat had been slit," she whispered.

Snipes cleared his throat. "It was a straight cut. If it gives you comfort, he likely died quickly."

"I suppose if one must die, a quick end is best." How silly that sounded! She met the sergeant's eyes. "I have prayed for him and his family."

"As to that. We do not have a name for the man, much less a local family reporting a missing person. He was, however, wearing military issued britches and boots, although his shirt and coat were not provided by the government."

"Military?" She frowned. "I have not seen any soldiers since coming here."

"They are not stationed here," Snipes answered. "When there is a need- a riot or strike for example, we must call for them. The nearest barracks are at Liverpool. He had nothing on his person which identified him. He carried no money."

"How sad that is. No one has reported his disappearance." She frowned. "If he were a military man would he not be missed?"

Her thoughts drifted to her older brother, Frederick, who was not only missed by the military, but actively dodging a warrant for his arrest. There would certainly be no mention of him here in Milton. In fact, she had not heard his named uttered by any of her family in years. _Dear Frederick._

"Unless the man was on leave, yes he would be reported as missing. We have contacted Liverpool but as of now, no one is unaccounted for." He thumbed through his papers and handed her a crisp sheet. "Here is the sketch I had drawn up. I wanted to show you and your maid before it goes into the paper tomorrow morning. I will send it on to London as well."

She took the page from Snipes' hand and glanced down. The sketch was from the shoulders up, and did not show the injury he had suffered. Although she had seen him for only a short minute on that fateful day, the dead man's visage had been burned in her mind.

"May I alter this?" she asked. "His lips and nose are not quite right." She stood to fetch a pencil from her father's desk in the corner.

Snipes snorted. "The artist was literally looking at the man as he drew the picture."

She frowned back at the Sergeant. "That does not signify! Not every artist has the same skills. If you and I were to look at a…" she shrugged, "at a flower, for example, you and I would not come up with an identical sketch. Some people are more skilled than others."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. Have at it." He waved her on.

She sat at her father's desk and got to work altering the picture. She widened the man's upper lips into the shape of a bow and created a bend in his nose, where he had certainly broken it. It had healed at a crooked angle. Subtle, perhaps, but she had noticed it. She added faint lines to the sides of his eyes and a little scruff to the heavy sideburns. The artist had a talent for eyes, she acknowledged, and she left them just as they were depicted. When she was satisfied, she walked back to where Snipes remained seated, reading through his notes. She handed him the picture.

He looked down and then up again. "Brilliant," he breathed. "I cannot say precisely what you changed but this is a much better likeness."

She nodded. "Thank you. I enjoy drawing."

"You have a talent. How you can remember what he looked like after such a short time is nothing short of incredible."

"It is not every day a person sees a dead body." She sighed. "I have a good memory for faces."

He stared at the drawing for several more minutes as if looking for a flaw and then removed his glasses and looked up at her. "Have you any other questions, Miss Hale?"

She shook her head and grinned. "It was you who came to ask me the questions."

He chuckled again. He put his glasses back in his breast pocket. "Just so. My questions have all been answered. To reiterate, you promise this to the be the truth as you best know it?"

"Indeed." Margaret nodded rapidly. "That is precisely what occurred Monday morning."

"Very good," he said. "Now, I suppose I must ask your maid to recount her tale."

"I'll send her in with tea."

He stood. "Thank you, Miss Hale. If I uncover more information, I will be certain to share it with you if I am able to do so."

"I would appreciate that consideration." She held out her hand, which he shook. "Please remember my mother is not aware of any of this and I would like to keep it that way."

"It will be in the newspaper tomorrow," he reminded her.

Her heart skipped a beat. "Surely not our address?"

"No, of course not." Snipes shook his head. "I am hoping this neighborhood will not even be mentioned, only that he was found dead and we are looking for his identity."

"Yes, that would be for the best. The least amount of information, the better. I shall fetch Dixon for you, sir. Good day to you."

She found Dixon in the kitchen, chewing her nails, waiting for her turn with Snipes. Margaret sent her to the officer with tea and cakes. She followed the maid down the hallway, and then instead of going in the sitting room, Margaret climbed the stairs instead. She went into her room and picked up where she had left off an hour earlier. She hoped her room would be set by the time her father came home from his tutoring that evening. Perhaps then she could begin to look at Milton as her new home.

The sound of heavy boots in the hallway leading to his office at the mill distracted John from the pile of invoices sitting atop his desk. He and Williams were to attend the weekly textile auction that afternoon, and he was waiting for his overseer to join him. On a typical Wednesday, Williams did a final round of the floor and sheds and then he met John in the office for their departure. His dear mother took his place on Wednesdays, and the other days when he was forced to be absent from the mill. Some of the female workers were intimidated by him, but they often shared their concerns with his mother who was almost as capable as he was of running the mill.

Williams rapped on the glass window and then opened the door without waiting for permission to enter. It was his office as much as it was John's. John stood and pulled his frockcoat off the back of his desk chair, expecting to be quickly on his way to the Exchange.

"Mr. Thornton, you have a visitor, sir."

John turned to see who Williams was talking about. His face fell. "Miss Latimer. What brings you here?"

She moved forward smiling. "I brought lunch for us to share." She lifted the covered basket she carried in her hands.

Williams gestured with his head, asking John wordlessly if he should leave. John widened his eyes and shook his head. Williams grinned, understanding he was needed as a chaperone for John and Miss Latimer

"How very kind of you," John said, shrugging into his coat. "It is unfortunate you have come on a Wednesday, Miss Latimer. Wednesdays are the textile auction at the Exchange. I am sorry to say Mr. Williams and I are just now leaving for it."

Her smile wavered ever slightly. "Can you not go later?" She glanced over her shoulder at Williams. "Perhaps Mr. Williams could go now and you might join him later?"

"I am afraid not. I am the only one who spends the money of Marlborough Mills," he said. He stepped around the desk, hesitant to get too close to her. She tended to grab his arm when he least expected it. "I know Fanny is at home. She would certainly enjoy spending the afternoon with you."

Her expression had changed into a pout. She glanced quickly at Williams, who turned his back on them and faced the hallway. "But it was _you_ I wanted to spend time with, Mr. Thornton."

"Today is not a good day, Miss Latimer. My free time is always very limited when the mill is in operation."

She snorted. "I believe you could make time if you wished to, Mr. Thornton." She tipped her chin up.

He refused to be goaded into a response.

"You may walk me to the mill house," she said.

Damn if she didn't grab his arm. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to not pull away. She was a nice woman; he simply had no interest in pursuing any sort of relationship with her. Fanny enjoyed her company, he did not.

"Very well." He sighed. "Williams are you ready to depart?"

His overseer nodded and after John shut the office door, the three of them headed down the hallway and then the back stairs which led to the mill courtyard. It was always a hive of activity until the lunch bell, which would sound shortly. After the bell to resume mill activities sounded, his mother would be in her position on the walkway, overlooking the looms. They had created an orderly system… as long as none of the machines decided to break down.

"Are you going to the concert on Friday evening?" Miss Latimer asked him.

"Yes, I agreed to escort Fanny." He did not care for the Opera, but Fanny loved the performances. It was one of the extravagances he allowed his sister.

"Excellent." Miss Latimer squeezed his arm. "I shall be there as well. Perhaps I can sit with Fanny."

They reached the door of the mill house, just beyond the courtyard. He rang the bell, knowing the door would be latched. When Jane answered, he said, "Miss Latimer is here to see Fanny. Please tell my mother I am off to the Exchange."

The maid nodded quickly and moved aside for Miss Latimer to enter, who looked back at him with a coy smile. He nodded his head at both Miss Latimer and Jane and quickly moved down the path toward New Street.

Williams had walked on ahead and waited for John to join him.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" John demanded.

"I do not believe I have ever seen you blush."

"I did not!" John spat.

"Don't like to be the one chased, eh?" Williams asked. "That one looks like she's got you in her sights."

He said nothing for several minutes as they walked to the Exchange. Finally, he stopped, and Williams did the same. John sighed from deep within.

"I am in a fix," he admitted. "I cannot offend her, for her father is my banker. But I do not wish to lead her on, as I have no intentions toward her. She seems to have set her cap for me, as you noticed, and no matter how often I discourage her, and I do as often as I am able, she continues to pursue me." He ran a hand through his hair. "I am not used to women behaving in such a way toward me."

"Well now," Williams began, "you know I have six children, Mr. Thornton. If you were my son, in a similar predicament, I would tell you to find another woman. If Miss Latimer realizes you are not available to her, she will move along to some other bloke. It might take a bit, as she may try to fight for you, but in the end, it will be resolved. Her father cannot be offended, because you have found a different woman, and Miss Latimer knows your heart is engaged elsewhere."

"I cannot use a woman so deceptively," John said, shaking his head.

"Do you not know anyone who would play along as your companion until Miss Latimer has moved on? Explain it to the woman at the beginning that she need only pretend to be interested in you, and once Miss Latimer is well and attached elsewhere you can resume being a bachelor." Williams patted him on the shoulder. "Who knows, you may just fall in love."

They resumed walking and John took into account what Williams suggested. John was very inexperienced with woman. The idea of Miss Latimer chasing him was distasteful, but he had never taken an opportunity to form any lasting relationships with any woman. Work was his life. He provided a comfortable home for his mother and sister, and to him, that was all that had mattered.

Who would he even consider for such a lark? Miss Latimer knew almost all the women he did, as they moved in the same social circles. He could hardly choose a mill girl, the woman would have to have equal and respectable standing as his family in the community. His sister would have to be ignorant of the plan as she could not be trusted to keep even the tiniest of secrets.

Dare he ask his mother? The plan was insane, but might just be all that would work, as he could not afford to offend his banker, and certainly had no wish to be involved with Ann Latimer. Just imagining spending time alone with her sent a shiver of disgust up his spine. Fanny was determined to get him married to her friend, did everything to place them together as much as possible. The plan might just be mad enough to work. But what woman would be willing to be his partner in this charade?

His mother was already at the table the following morning when he went into breakfast. He closed the door after he entered the room. What he had been mulling over in his mind since the day before was nothing he would want to servants to know. He kissed her cheek just as he always did but instead of sitting at the other end of the table, he brought his plate next to her and sat down.

"What are you doing?" His mother asked.

"I have something I wish to discuss with you and do not wish for anyone to hear."

"Is something amiss?" She frowned before sipping her tea.

"No." He shook his head. "Not exactly. It is an embarrassing conversation, one that I could only have with you."

"Very well." She set her tea down and wiped the corners of her mouth with her linen napkin and then turned her full attention to him.

"Yesterday, Miss Latimer came to the mill at lunch time."

"Yes, I know." She nodded. "She met with Fanny. I overheard them discussing it."

He grimaced. "I must tell you I truthfully have no interest in Miss Latimer, Mother. I am in a rather difficult position, however. If I offend her, I likely offend her father, whom I rely upon for loans for Marlborough Mills as needed."

"Do you owe him a great deal?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I believe just at five hundred pounds."

She nodded. "That is not a large sum."

"No," he agreed, "but should I need more… should machinery break or something else disastrous beset us, I must know I can rely upon him for capital."

They stared at each other for a moment. He could tell she was considering options, just as he had done the day before.

"Shall I ask Fanny to stop being with Miss Latimer so much?" she asked.

"No." He shook his head. "I would not wish to deprive Fanny of her friend. Miss Latimer is a fine girl, but just not for me. With the help of Williams, I came up with a scheme."

"Williams? You have shared your concerns with him?" She was incredulous.

He chuckled. "He was there when she arrived yesterday. It was obvious she was seeking my attentions. She is not subtle, Mother."

"Well, what did he suggest?" she whispered.

John took a deep breath before shaking his head. "He thought if I began seeing another woman, Miss Latimer would understand my attentions are turned elsewhere and she would give up on me."

She twisted her lips in thought. "That would work, I am sure, but where will you find a suitable woman?" She raised her brows. "Perhaps you already have a woman in mind?"

He shook his head. "No, that is why I need your help. You well know I have never brought a woman home for your approval." He grinned. "I am rather confident around men, but when it comes to women who are not my employees, I fear I struggle. Is there someone who you feel might be willing to pretend to be my woman?"

She laughed then. "Why must she pretend? Why can you not court someone proper?"

He colored. "I suppose I could. I have yet to meet anyone I would consider courting."

"No one?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Not even someone recently moved to Milton?" She raised her brows.

Who had just moved… The Hales!

"Margaret Hale?"

She nodded. "Perhaps." She shrugged. "I like her. She is honest. She is also very pretty, and well bred."

" _Too_ well bred," he said. Her breeding was so far above him, even considering her was foolish. "I think she is too far above me, Mother. Her mother was raised as an aristocrat, her father is the youngest son of an earl."

"Why does that make her superior to you? You are a fine man with talents and skills that breeding does not create. You understand and possess proper behavior, I made certain of that even when we were in the direst of circumstances. Indeed, my son, I believe you are quite compatible with Miss Hale, but if you are not interested in her…"

"I find her very lovely and everything a woman should be," he interrupted. "I simply do not know if she would approve of such a scheme. I am fairly certain her mother would not encourage this match."

"Mrs. Hale is a difficult woman for me to understand. However, Miss Hale is very different from her mother. Perhaps she would enjoy being courted by you, or receiving your attentions. You need not tell her why, simply see if she is interested in knowing you better."

"How do I go about that?" he asked. He was at a loss where to begin with such a fine woman. How did he go about explaining his interest in her?

"You simply ask if she would like to go somewhere with you. A walk perhaps would be a good start? Have Fanny go along as chaperone. If you tell Fanny that you are interested in Miss Hale, word will get to Miss Latimer quickly and then you will not have to say a word to the girl about your aversion to her. Her father will not blame you for having a different lover, and Ann will find someone else to become attached to. She has only been back from Switzerland for a short time. You were the first man on her father's list of potential husbands. As you know there are far more men in this city than woman. Especially woman of quality. She will find another."

A knock sounded at the door and his mother told the maid to enter. In her hand, she carried a letter and a newspaper. She handed both to John, bowed her head and retreated, shutting the door closed behind her.

"Who is the letter from?" his mother asked.

"Mr. Bell." He did not receive many personal letters, and recognized Mr. Bell's bold script. "He mentioned he would be coming this month. I imagine he is giving me advanced warning."

John set the letter aside and instead glanced down at the newspaper. He unfolded it and was surprised to see a sketch of the dead man found at the Hale's home on the front page. He showed his mother.

"This man was found in Crampton on Monday. A murder if you can believe it."

Her surprise showed on her face. "In Crampton? Oh my, how horrible. Do the Hales know about it?"

"Yes, I told them to be careful. They installed extra latches on their doors. Mr. Hale is often gone, so the women are home alone." He would not disclose that the man had been found outside the Hale's home. "I must clarify. I do not believe they have told Mrs. Hale about the incident. They are very cautious of her sensitivities."

His mother chuckled. "If they were not so cautious with the woman perhaps she would become stronger. She would have no choice."

He shrugged. He thought there was more to the story of Mrs. Hale than he knew.

She continued studying the newspaper. "It says his identity is unknown."

He finally dug into his breakfast, realizing he needed to get moving to the mill. "They found nothing on him. No money, no identification, nothing."

"Robbery then?" she asked. She folded the paper and set it beside her plate. "I know I have never seen him. He looks rough. Perhaps he worked at one of the other mills, but what was he doing in Crampton?"

John shrugged. "I cannot say. I do hope for his family, if nothing else, he can be identified."

She pushed her plate forward. "Would you like me to invite Miss Hale for dinner tomorrow? I can contrive a reason, perhaps something about her needlework?"

"No, thank you. I will consider it throughout the day and if I decide to proceed, I shall speak with her this evening.


	6. Chapter 6

_"_ _Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."_

 _-Proverbs 16:18_

Chapter Six

Margaret had reached her breaking point. She had asked nicely. She had then pleaded. Finally, she begged. Yet, no matter how she approached her mother about attending the sewing meeting, she continued to refuse.

"Why must you be so bloody difficult?" Margaret screamed. "You gave it but one chance!"

Her mother's face showed shock at Margaret's caustic tone, but she refused to say anything.

"Mama. We are here in this dirty, sooty, gray town." Her voice was firm, her posture ridged. "It is where father brought us. It is perhaps where _God_ has sent us. Have you even considered that? There could be a greater reason we have been sent here." Margaret shook her head and continued packing her sewing bag. "It matters not, why. We must associate with those around us. We must mingle if we are to ever feel truly settled. I have worked quite diligently with Dixon to get this house just as you and Papa wanted it. That is all I can do. You must make an effort to do the rest."

Margaret buttoned her bag closed and stared at her mother's profile. Was anything Margaret was saying making a difference to the stubborn woman?

"I shall go by myself," Margaret declared. "I will not tell Papa, but I hope you do."

Margaret left her mother's bedroom, walked down the stairs and set her bag down as she picked up her heavier woolen cloak hanging by the door. Oh, she was mad! She punched her arms inside the sleeves and then wrapped a scarf around her neck before pulling on woolen mittens. Dixon had warned of the drop in temperature, and she even thought it felt like snow. How she felt snow, Margaret could not say, but the maid was usually correct so Margaret dressed for the possibility.

She grabbed her bag, and with a final look up the stairway, hoping her mother had felt guilty enough to join her, she sighed forlornly, slid the slat aside at the front door, unlatched the lock and walked outside. She closed the door behind her with a hard pull, hoping Dixon would lock the door behind her. Papa was gone out with a student, leaving her mother and Dixon alone.

Fuming, Margaret marched down the road that led out of Crompton and eventually intersected with New Street. It was a hike, Margaret admitted, but she was so angry she knew the distance would remove her frustration before meeting with the fine ladies of Milton. Two days a week was all Margaret had asked of her mother. Two hours, two days a week. Papa even told them to hire a carriage for the trip to make it easier for her mother's travel and still she refused!

She reached New Street and waited patiently for carriages to pass by before she dared cross the road. Her anger was subsiding, replaced by an odd excitement to see the women again. Margaret was anxious to learn as much as she could about Milton, knew that these ladies were likely aware of everything happening in the city, and would help her find her way. At least most of them had been welcoming. Only Mrs. Latimer, the banker's wife seemed rather hostile.

She crossed the street and continued on her journey. She was relieved to realize there were but only three blocks to go until she reached the Donaldson's house. She knew they switched houses each week and wondered how far away the Hampers lived. Mrs. Hamper was the next hostess. Did they live at their mill like the Thorntons? Margaret would have to obtain directions before leaving today.

She thought she was running late, but two women had just arrived ahead of her. The butler was waiting at the door for her when she rushed up the walkway smiling. She was a bit sticky from her walk, and a huge gust of heat met her as she entered the Donaldson's home, making her even more uncomfortable. She quickly divested of her mittens and scarf and stuffed them in the sleeves of her cloak. She removed her hat and once free of all of the outer gear, she was feeling much better. She glanced in the gilded mirror outside the sitting room, straightened her hair, picked up her bag and entered the room where the other woman had already started their visiting.

She sat in a different spot this time. The fluffy cat gave her a curious stare, wondering perhaps if Margaret would dislocate her again. Once Margaret sat, the cat resumed its position with its head on its paws and closed its gorgeous blue eyes. Several women were missing, most notably Mrs. Thornton and the conceited Mrs. Latimer.

"Your mother did not join you today, my dear?" Mrs. Slickson asked. Her eyes were on the door, her hand, holding a needle and thread, was suspended in midair.

Margaret shook her head. "Not today."

She hoped no one would press her for the reasoning, as she refused to lie for anyone, and to say 'Mama thinks she is better than you ladies,' might be a tad insulting.

"Oh, that is too bad," Mrs. Hamper said. "Perhaps she will be able to come Tuesday when I play hostess? I always look forward to having you ladies." She was not a particularly good-looking woman, but when she smiled, a dimple appeared in her cheek.

Margaret relaxed, satisfied that no one else would say anything about her mother.

"Rupert is coming to take orders today!" Mrs. Lewis said, speaking of her son who owned the sewing shop in town. She turned toward Margaret just as she poked her first stitch through the linen. "He comes one time each month and then delivers at the following meeting unless he needs to order something special."

"And you pay him when he delivers," Mrs. Hamper explained. She winked at Margaret, making her smile and immediately endearing herself to her.

"I would like to see his shop," Margaret said. She had done very little shopping, even window browsing since coming to Milton. "Perhaps tomorrow I can stop. Must I make an appointment?"

"Oh no!" Mrs. Lewis shook her head. "He has regular hours. I know some London shops require an appointment but that is not how he runs his business."

Margaret nodded, immediately excited at the prospect of touching silks and satins and seeing a store full of color and patterns.

"Speaking of tomorrow," Mrs. Donaldson began, "I was curious if you, Miss Hale, would like to help with a project we do at church."

"What sort of project?" Margaret asked, immediately curious.

Just then, Mrs. Thornton joined them. Mary Donaldson rushed to welcome the newcomer just as she had Margaret. Mrs. Thornton chose the chair next to Margaret, who greeted her warmly. As soon as everyone had settled back down and into their projects, the door opened again, this time Mrs. Latimer entered making a loud, grand entrance.

Margaret's stomach clenched. She did not like the woman. Although Margaret had encountered far worse in London, she had yet to find such people here in Milton. Milton people were real, no false façade or veneer. Her father said they were proud and humble, and she thought he was right.

"Now then, Margaret," Mrs. Donaldson continued. "Our sewing group provides charity food baskets each week for the needy of our parish. I saw you and your father at services last week, and I am hopeful you will continue to attend church?"

"Yes, of course. I have grown up in the church and I do not expect anything to change that."

Mrs. Donaldson clapped with a smile. "Marvelous! Well, then, we assemble baskets on Friday afternoon for homebound parishioners, and Saturday afternoon to be picked up by families on Sunday following the services."

"You do this each week?" Margaret asked. Her father had an alms box from which he could divvy out money as needed for the poor.

"Yes. It is so wonderful to help the less fortunate of Milton, and our church community, especially." Mrs. Hamper nodded without looking up from her stitching.

"We all bring food to the church on Fridays and some of us stay and make up the Friday baskets and others come on Saturday and make the rest. We need only three for tomorrow, but twenty-four for Saturday." Mrs. Donaldson frowned. "If I added correctly."

"Someone delivers the Friday baskets to the Princeton district," Mrs. Thornton said. "I choose not to deliver as many of my son's employees live there and it might be a bit uncomfortable for them to accept charity from us."

Did they not know where the food came from? Margaret wondered. Surely, they were astute enough to look around the church and see who was in attendance and wealthy enough to donate their extras?

"I thought perhaps you might go with me tomorrow, Margaret," Mrs. Donaldson said. "You mentioned last time that you enjoy walking, and there is a spot on the edge of Princeton with a green area. It is just a small space, but maybe it with bring you some pleasure? Also, two of the baskets go to ladies just your age. Perhaps they will enjoy visiting with you. Being homebound, they do not see many people."

She looked around the circle of women and realized everyone was looking at her. She wanted to laugh. Was this some sort of initiation to the sewing circle. It seemed they were all holding their breath to see how she would respond. She bit the inside of her lip to prevent a hoot of laughter. "I would be pleased to help you, Mrs. Donaldson," she answered with a smile.

"It does not take much of your time," Mrs. Thornton said. "It does seem to make a difference for many families."

Margaret had helped many in Helstone over the years. She would collect clothing for the needy, especially coats when the weather turned foul. In London, her Aunt Shaw was always generous at Christmas for the orphan home.

"Can you meet me at the church about three tomorrow?" Mrs. Donaldson asked her.

"I can, yes." Margaret nodded.

"I am not certain how safe it is to be walking alone right now," Mrs. Latimer said. "Did you ladies see the picture of the dead man in the paper this morning?" She clicked her tongue. "What is this world coming to?"

"I saw it," Mrs. Thornton said. "My son tells me it is rare for such a thing to occur. He believes we are all quite safe."

"Being a Magistrate, I am certain Mr. Thornton would know best." Mrs. Latimer gave what Margaret thought was a condescending smile to Mrs. Thornton. "Well, I for one, will not be walking outside alone until they apprehend the murderer," Mrs. Latimer said.

"I could not believe the picture was only a sketch," Mrs. Hamper said. "Why, it was so well done, I thought it was a picture taken by that daguerreotype machine. It was so vivid."

Inside, Margaret puffed with pride. Of course, she could not admit to the ladies she had been the one to do the drawing, but the fact that the ladies did not know it was Margaret's drawing made the compliment all the sweeter. She did smile, she could not help it. She had not shared her work with very many people, and today, hundreds had seen it.

"He looked quite rough, like those dock workers in Liverpool," Mrs. Slickson said. "My husband did not recognize him."

The other ladies agreed that their spouses had never seen him before.

"Do most mill masters know all their employees?" Margaret asked quietly. "Are there not hundreds of workers at each mill?"

Mrs. Thornton was the first to answer. "The master may not know the name, but he will know a face. The overseers would know both name and face as they dole out the weekly pay."

"Let us discuss something more pleasant, shall we?" Mrs. Donaldson suggested. "Miss Hale have you heard about our upcoming balls?"

Margaret shook her head, a slight smile on her lips. She loved to dance and there had always been many opportunities in London for such entertainment.

"Beginning this month, Friday next as a matter of fact, we have monthly balls until April. It gives us all something to look forward to during these long, damp and dreary days."

"Where are they held?" Margaret asked.

"At our husbands' club," Mrs. Latimer said. She looked at Margaret with a hard eye.

"I see." Margaret understood well enough what the woman was saying. It was an exclusive club that she and her family were not part of. Fortunately, in London there were very few places she wished to go where she was not welcome. Here, she may have to adjust to being an outsider looking in. That chafed.

"Miss Hale," Mrs. Thornton said, "I would be happy to extend an invitation to you and your parents for the ball. I am certain my son would be pleased to sponsor your father as a new member of the club."

Margaret flashed Mrs. Thornton a bright smile. "That is very kind of you. I am not certain how my father would feel about joining. How would he fit in with businessmen?"

"Whatever do you mean, Miss Hale?" Mrs. Latimer spoke up again. "Does he feel superior to businessman?"

"Heavens no!" Margaret sputtered. Lord, she hated that woman. It was a sin to hate, but truly Mrs. Latimer was pushing Margaret toward the dark side. "My father was a clergyman, Mrs. Latimer. He does not imbibe, although holds no grudge against those who do, nor does he smoke. I simply meant I am not certain he would have enough in common to feel part of the group. I meant no offense."

"I understood perfectly what you meant," Mrs. Donaldson said. She patted Margaret's knee in a motherly gesture. "I thought my husband might struggle amongst the businessmen, but he holds his own. They meet each Wednesday evening."

"The mill masters have a dinner meeting before they all commune," Mrs. Slickson said. She chuckled. "It often becomes a very late night for all of them."

"Let us talk about the dances!" Mrs. Hamper smiled at her. "I do get so excited when they start up. Each month we have a different theme. This month, being November, we call it the harvest ball. Even though we do not have large amount of farming in the area, it seems to fit. We all wear dark tones, browns, deep purples, greens."

"It is just an assembly, as you would have in London," Mrs. Donaldson told Margaret. "The staff do provide drinks and punch and such, but not dinner."

"December is a rather busy month with the holidays, but, my son and I do host the Mill Master's Dinner," Mrs. Thornton said. "The following week is the Christmas Caper."

"Then, in January, we call the dance the Frosty Frolic," Mrs. Hamper giggled like a young girl. "February is the Sweetheart Soiree; March is Primavera Promenade, and April is the Winsome Whirl."

"What fun!" Margaret said, smiling at the excitement she felt coming from Mrs. Hamper and the others.

"Oh, it is, it is! Our daughters and sons enjoy attending as well. It gives us all a chance to mix and mingle." Mrs. Hamper said. "Our husbands all work such long days it is refreshing to see them relax, if for only an evening."

"This is a formal affair, of course, Miss Hale," Mrs. Latimer said. "We wear our very best gowns. Why, most of us purchase new gowns just for these occasions."

Margaret remained silent. She wanted to believe Mrs. Latimer was attempting to be helpful, but Margaret knew the truth. Mrs. Latimer was doing all she could to make Margaret feel inferior. She was the type of person who reveled in disparaging others so she could feel superior.

Margaret listened as the women continued chatting about their dresses, and those of their daughters. She occasionally smiled when it was warranted, but did not say another word. Soon, they turned to gossip. As Margaret did not know anyone of whom they spoke, it was easy to allow her mind to wander. Would her father wish to attend the ball? She was relatively certain her mother would refuse, but would her father be willing to escort her?

Her fancy dresses had been left in London. There was no need for such attire in Helstone, and Margaret had left them at Harley Street, thinking Edith could wear them or redo them with lace or fripperies to fit her needs. Could Aunt Shaw have them packed up and shipped to Milton by Friday next? If Margaret sent an express yet this evening it was possible, she supposed.

Just before four, when the meeting was scheduled to end, Rupert Lewis arrived. A tall, lanky, fair haired man, he wore a bushy moustache and long sideburns. He was dressed very well in a finely tailored suit and well starched cravat. He shook each lady's hand until he came to Margaret. Mrs. Donaldson quickly introduced them.

"It is a pleasure, Miss Hale. My mother mentioned you. You are from London?" He had a very pleasing voice with cultured tones, unlike many of the Northern men she had already met.

"I spent much of the year in London and summers in Helstone in the far south," she answered.

"Well, then you are likely accustomed to the finest of choices in fabrics." He smiled. "I hope I may offer you some comparable choices in my shop."

Margaret nodded. "I am anxious to see your store, Mr. Lewis."

"You must come then! Perhaps even tomorrow morning?" he suggested. He looked at the women, a wide smile showing off his perfect, white teeth. "All the others lovely ladies are well familiar with the store. I would be pleased to give you a tour."

"Is it that large?" she asked. "I have been to warehouses in the garment districts of London, but I understood your store was small?"

"Oh, no, Miss Hale." It was Mrs. Lewis who spoke up. "By Milton standards _Threads_ is very large. Indeed, Rupert has anything you could possibly want for a sewing project."

"Wonderful," Margaret said. "I would be glad to visit tomorrow morning. I will wait until then to choose what I need."

Some of the other women got up to leave, as Rupert began to take orders. She decided it would be acceptable to leave herself, and thus, she bid thanks and goodbye to Mrs. Donaldson before collecting her outerwear from the maid at the front door.

"I will see you home, Miss Hale," Mrs. Thornton whispered. "Come along."

Margaret was too surprised- and thankful- to argue, she followed silently behind Mrs. Thornton like a puppy. Soon, they were in the Thornton carriage on their way to Crampton.

"I have two questions for you," Mrs. Thornton said, with no preamble. "I did not wish to broach the topics in front of the others as they are personal, home questions. Will you answer me honestly?"

Margaret paused for a moment. What could Mrs. Thornton ask that she could not answer? "Yes."

"Thank you." Mrs. Thornton nodded with a satisfied smile. "I appreciate honesty in all things, Miss Hale. Will you tell me why did your mother not accompany you today?"

When Margaret did not answer directly, Mrs. Thornton continued.

"My son confided in me that the man who was murdered, the one Mrs. Latimer brought up, was found in Crampton. John said you and your family were aware of this. I find it inconceivable that your mother allowed you to the Donaldson's house alone!"

Margaret swallowed. "My mother does not know of the death," she whispered. "We have all been treating her with kid gloves since coming here. She has become so fragile, so sensitive to everything."

"Did you father know you came alone?"

Margaret shook her head. "He knew I was coming today, of course, but he thought Mama would be joining me. He is likely just learning now that she remained home."

"Will you not tell me why she did not come? Was it too cold?"

Margaret laughed and shook her head. "My mother hardly leaves her room, Mrs. Thornton. She would have no idea if it were zero or one hundred degrees outside. No, that is not it." She sighed and looked away from Mrs. Thornton's stare. "Her spirits are so low. She is regretting many choices she made in her life. She is angry with my father for moving us here instead of taking a position in London."

"Why did he not accept that position?" Mrs. Thornton prodded.

That was a personal question. Margaret quirked her brow. "Is that to be your second question?"

Mrs. Thornton grinned back. "No. You are a sassy one, are you not?" She chuckled. "My second question is whether or not you have a gown for the ball."

"I do," Margaret said. "Unfortunately, it is packed away in a trunk in London. I am hopeful my aunt can get it sent to me in time. I will send a letter to her yet today."

"I am certain Fanny has something for you to wear," Mrs. Thornton offered.

"No." Margaret shook her head. "Thank you, kindly, but I will have a dress."

Mrs. Thornton looked doubtful. "Pride goeth before the fall."

"I have lost much in my move here, Mrs. Thornton." Margaret grimaced. "My pride is about all that I have left."

John and Mr. Hale had nearly reached the end of their studies for the evening. John had taxed his brain during this session. Although he had a fine memory from his school days, Mr. Hale was quickly uncovering the areas he was lacking. John finished translating a particularly rough patch of Latin and sat back from the table with a sense of relief.

Mr. Hale chuckled. "You are doing fine, Mr. Thornton, just fine."

John blew out a puff of air and then smiled. "It is getting harder each time."

"That is my intent," Mr. Hale said. "What would be the purpose if I was not making you work hard? We could have spent weeks in rote memorization but how boring would that be? This way you learn as you go, and as you know more than you think you do, this is the better way for me to instruct."

John nodded. "I hated the conjugations. The same words over and over and over." He laughed then, remembering the wiry little man who taught him Latin.

"Agreed! So, have we reached the end for tonight?" Mr. Hale asked.

John glanced at the ornate clock on the mantle. It was earlier than their usual eight o'clock stopping point, but he had something to speak with Mr. Hale about before Miss Hale joined them.

"I believe so," John answered. He closed his small book and stretched his arms above his head. He rested his hands flatly on the table and said, "I have something of a personal nature to ask of you."

"Oh?" Mr. Hale asked.

Today, John had practiced asking permission from Mr. Hale as he tied his cravat in front of the mirror. He believed he was confident enough to do so. "As you may know, my mother attends the same sewing ladies' group that Mrs. Hale and Miss Hale."

"Yes, Margaret mentioned your mother gave her a ride home today."

John nodded. "While with the ladies, Miss Hale has apparently expressed her interest in finding a park where she could walk. My mother said your daughter misses the trees and flowers from Helstone."

Mr. Hale nodded. "That she does. She was forever outside the vicarage in Helstone. It was hard to keep her inside." He smiled. "In London, too, I believe she spent much time walking the parks. She loves to sew and read but I think even those interests can become tedious without an opportunity to be engaged in other activities like exercise."

"Yes, of course. Or employment. I wish I had more time to read for pleasure."

Mr. Hale nodded in understanding.

John continued, "The nearest green space is a short carriage ride on the edge of Milton. It is not the prettiest this time of year, but may bring her some pleasure. With your permission, Mr. Hale, I would like to escort her there on Sunday afternoon. My sister Fanny would join us as chaperone, of course."

Mr. Hale smiled. "I believe she would be pleased with this plan. You must ask her, of course, but I am happy to give you my consent."

John nodded, relieved. Since breakfast when his mother broached the idea of using Miss Hale to rid himself of the clinging interest of Ann Latimer, he had been unable to concentrate on much else. He had yet to decide if he wanted to court Miss Hale in truth, or only to be rid of Miss Latimer. He supposed much would depend on Miss Hale's reaction to his invitation.

"I will ask her this evening," John said, "if you will grant me a few moments of privacy with her?"

"Certainly, certainly. When she comes in, I shall go on an errand. I do not believe my wife will be joining us to visit this evening."

Mrs. Hale had been rather standoffish to both him and his mother. She had even snubbed his mother when she called with Fanny, but he could see Mr. Hale was troubled by her behavior.

"Is there something I could do to help Mrs. Hale settle in Milton?" John offered. "I am glad to help your family however I may."

Mr. Hale shook his grey head. Tonight, he looked careworn. "Only she can choose to accept Milton. Margaret has tried to get her involved, has tried to coax her outside." He shook his head again. "If things do not improve, I may send her to London to her sister's home for a time."

"This is the sister's home where Miss Hale lived?"

Mr. Hale nodded. "My wife grew up in London. She did not like Helstone at first, either, but grew accustomed to it." He shrugged. "It is an adjustment, but one I hope she will be willing to make."

After a quick rap, the door opened and Miss Hale entered carrying the usual tea tray. Tonight, there were biscuits and tarts, too. She smiled at her father and then turned to John. Lord, she was beautiful. Elegant, graceful, but without haughtiness or airs of superiority. He had never known a woman like her.

"Are you finished with your lessons or shall I return?" She continued her walk to the sitting area and set the tray on the table. She looked over her shoulder and then sat and carefully arranged her skirts around her on the settee.

"We are done for the evening, my dear," Mr. Hale told her. He stood, and after giving John a wink, he said, "Margaret, I must go fetch a book from my room for Mr. Thornton. Go ahead and start tea without me. I shall return shortly."

"Yes, Papa." She lifted the teapot and began to pour his cup.

Once Mr. Hale had left the room, John stood and joined her. He took the cup and saucer she offered him, and then sat next to her on the settee. Nervousness settled in the pit of his stomach. They had never been alone before, not even for a short time. He had decided earlier, on his walk to the Hale's Crampton home, if she declined his invitation, he would share his scheme to rid himself of Ann Latimer. If she agreed to go with him, he would pursue her in a true courtship. He waited to taste his tea until she set the teapot back on the tray.

"How are you this evening, Miss Hale?" he asked. How inane!

"Quite well," she answered. When she smiled her green eyes sparkled. "Thank you for asking."

"I trust you had a pleasant day with the sewing ladies?" he continued.

She chuckled. "I did." She sipped her tea and then added a little more sugar. You're your mill matters go smoothly?"

He matched her chuckle and nodded. Minutes passed in silence and he knew Mr. Hale would be back sooner than John would wish. He cleared his throat. "My mother has mentioned… that is, she suggested…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. She looked stunning this evening; the dark green dress accentuated the brilliant color of her eyes. "That is to say, I understand you are fond of parks and walking."

She nodded. "Indeed, I am."

"Good. I am an avid walker." He nodded, pleased his mother had been correct. "My mother suggested I introduce you to my favorite of Milton's few parklike areas. I thought, that is, if you were interested, we could fetch you Sunday afternoon at two o'clock?"

"We?" she asked.

"My sister and I," he clarified. Good Lord, had she though he meant his mother? "I thought you would be more comfortable with a chaperone."

"How considerate of you." She paused and his heart beat sped up. Would she say no? "I know your time is very limited, Mr. Thornton. I appreciate your willingness to spend some of it helping me get better acquainted with Milton." She nodded several times, then. "Thank you for the invitation. I would be pleased to accompany you and Fanny."

Relief flooded his body. She said yes! "I asked your father already," he added quickly. "He gave his consent."

"Then, it sounds as if it is all settled." She smiled again, although he could not understand if it was from happiness at the offer, or the awkward way he had presented it. "You must thank your mother for the suggestion."

"She has enjoyed coming to know you better," he said.

He was speaking too much about his mother, he realized. This was about what _he_ wanted, not what his mother had suggested. He had used his mother as a buffer, uncertain a woman as fine as Miss Hale would consent to be seen with a rough industrialist with calloused hands. He had to be so different from the London man she would have met. He wondered then how old she was. She could not be more than two and twenty. Likely younger. Why had no one snatched her up in London? Foolish men.

"Your mother has been very kind." She picked up on his topic. "I myself am very pleased Dr. Donaldson suggested we attend the sewing group. It did not seem to have its' intended impact upon my mother, but I have enjoyed it thus far." She shrugged. "Shall I fill your cup?"

He nodded and held it forward. Although he maintained a firm grip upon the saucer, her hand cupped the side, essentially holding two of his fingers as well. Her hand was so wonderfully soft, so smooth. He looked up to see if she had any reaction to the touch or if she was simply pouring as she always did. Her face did have a delightful flush, but whether it was from their contact or the steam from the tea, he could not say. She was slow to move her hand away and as she did pull away, it felt like a caress. Oh yes, he thought, she knew exactly what she had done, and how that pleased him!

She filled her own cup and settled back against the settee. "The group is helping me better understand Milton." She paused, looking into her cup. "I will not lie and say I like all the women, but most have been very friendly and welcoming."

When she looked up at him, he nodded. "I am glad to hear it."

"They mentioned a monthly ball given by your club is to be held Friday next. I was wondering… that is…" she looked away from him. Lord, was she going to ask him to take her? He would of, course, but he would prefer to be the one asking. "Do you think my father would be welcome in such a club as yours?"

John laughed inside at his own foolishness. Of course, a proper girl would never ask a man to a dance! How foolish of him.

She was staring at him, and he remembered she had asked a question. He nodded quickly. "I do."

"As you likely have realized by now, Papa is quite reserved." She held his gaze. "Having been a clergyman, he is very… conservative. He does not drink or gamble."

He smiled, imagining what she thought happened at his club. "There is conversation to be had at my club, Miss Hale, not just drunken debauchery."

"I was not suggesting…" She flushed bright red. "Debauchery is a rather strong word." She dropped her voice. "I would not wish him to feel uncomfortable. He may have left the church but he is still a very Godly man."

"I understand what you are implying, Miss Hale." He sighed. "Some of the men are crass and may say uncouth things, but in general, it is just an opportunity to visit with one another. We all spend long hours with our businesses so the club offers us an opportunity to socialize. We talk about many subjects besides the mill works, subjects I believe your father would be interested in. We meet weekly, and yes, I do believe your father would fit in nicely." As long as John softened Slickson's perverted sexual comments and halts Watson's bragging about his many female conquests, Mr. Hale would feel very comfortable at the club.

Her smile widened. "I am so very glad to hear this. It would be beneficial for him to socialize with other men, rather than just the boys he sees daily."

"Am I not enough?" he teased.

Her eyes widened and she flushed again. "I did not mean…"

"I am jesting, Miss Hale." He smiled. "I agree. He would benefit from the male camaraderie."

"Is it very expensive to join?" she whispered.

He twisted his lips. He did not think it was, but that was based on his financial position. He was not completely aware of the Hale's finances.

"I found it, Mr. Thornton!" Mr. Hale rejoined them before John answered. He handed John a random book he must have located in his bedroom.

"Thank you." He accepted the book and placed it on top of the table next to the tea set. Margaret was too engaged in pouring tea for her father to look at it. It was a book of the Psalms. "I hope you did not go to too much trouble in locating it."

Mr. Hale shook his head and took a seat. "Not at all."

Miss Hale handed her father his tea.

"Margaret, I asked Mr. Thornton to extend my great thanks to his mother for seeing you home today. After the situation on our back steps, I am very hesitant to have her alone anywhere."

John nodded and glanced toward Miss Hale. "I can well understand, but, you must know that such crimes are very rare in this area."

"Mr. Bell would not have allowed us to settle in Crampton if that were not true." Mr. Hale said. "I have received word he is coming this week."

"Yes, I too received a letter from him. Just this morning, in fact." John said. "I both enjoy and dread his visits."

Miss Hale laughed. "Dread them? Mr. Bell is delightful. Why would you feel such a way?"

John smiled at her. Her laughter lit up her whole lovely face. Her eyes look alive, as if they had a mind of their own. The best thing about her reactions were that they were so honest. Nothing about her was fake or contrived.

"He is my landlord, Miss Hale. I dread the day may come when he says he must raise my rents."

"That I can understand, but surely he will give you warning?" She asked. Turning to her father, she said, "I suppose he is our landlord as well, Papa?"

"Indeed, he is, Margaret, but I believe we are safe from eviction." Mr. Hale winked at her.

She grinned and then finished her tea. John suddenly wanted her to look at him with the tenderness he saw in her eyes for her father. He swallowed hard. He had no idea how to court a woman properly. He had never bothered. His life was the tedious, organized, scheduled mill. Could he find room for a woman, and could he behave in such a way she might consent to continue seeing him after Sunday?


	7. Chapter 7

" _When I saw you, I fell in love and you smiled because you knew."_

 _-_ Verdi _, Falstaff_

Chapter 7

The art of haggling was something Margaret Hale had learned at an early age from her dear Aunt Shaw. Today, it had come in handy in dealing with Rupert Lewis. As she left his impressive shop, a hidden gem in a city of dirt and soot, she was proud of herself. Indeed, she had purchased the thread she needed to complete her current stitching project, but she had also finagled a new dress for the upcoming Harvest Ball.

Margaret had thought of the idea the night before, after John Thornton had left their home. She really was not certain if he had invited her to walk out on Sunday to appease his mother or if he truly had an interest in knowing her better. Either way, she would attend the ball the following week and look beautiful. If Mr. Thornton was not interested, perhaps another man would be.

She stopped on the corner to watch for carriages passing. It was a beautiful day for November. The sun was shining and the wind was low. She tipped her head up to the warmth of the sun and smiled. Nothing could dull her pleasure as she walked on toward the church where she would be meeting Mrs. Donaldson and begin to make food baskets.

Rupert Lewis had been a tough man to bargain with. In truth, he was as firm as any of the men who ran the textile warehouses in London. Margaret was not about to be intimidated. Upon review of which dresses she remembered leaving behind in London, she knew she did not have an acceptable one for a Harvest Ball. Thus, even if her dear aunt were able to get the clothing to Milton in time, she would still not have an appropriate gown. Mr. Lewis was her only choice.

He had lovely fabrics, of all levels of quality and price. Margaret knew fabrics, loved sewing and sometimes just enjoyed running her hand over the textures of satin, taffeta, and even fine cotton. Mr. Lewis had something very close to exactly what she had envisioned for a dress. Although the ladies had suggested dark colors, like brown and oranges, Margaret knew she did not look her best in such colors. So, instead, she had hunted through the beautiful dark greens and blues.

She had found a beautiful dark emerald green taffeta with a thin, sheer green tinted tulle. She would take smaller scraps of navy and garnet to create florets on the shoulders and at the hem. During her time in London, she had created enough of her own gowns to know her measurements, the lengths of fabrics she would need, and roughly how much a gown should cost. Mr. Lewis' prices were quite a bit higher than in London which he explained by citing the lack of competition of dressmakers in Milton.

Her first request had been rather simple, and manageable, she thought. She had asked Mr. Lewis to create a line of credit for her, much as she had in London. She would pay for the dress weekly until the debt was satisfied. She had some coins to put down as a start and the rest would be paid in installments. As soon as she had begun the explanation, Mr. Lewis' head began to shake. He explained only people who had done business with him for a substantial amount of time were given such a privilege.

Margaret, being a bit bull- headed, did not like being told no, and had devised a secondary scheme in the event Mr. Lewis was unwilling to extend her credit. She told him, in rather firm tones, that he should give her the materials, allow her to create the gown in his shop so he could watch her skill, and then, when the dress was completed, he could study the dress and see just how talented she was. If he liked what she could do, which she knew he would, she would agree to work for him, in his shop, until the dress was paid in full.

She had held her breath, waiting for him to agree, which he finally did. He added two caveats, though. She would work a full four hours longer than necessary to pay for his inconvenience and if the dress was substandard, he would keep it so it could be fixed and sewn properly. She wanted to laugh at that idea. As meticulous and skilled as she was with a needle, the man would not find a single flaw in her work. Her only stipulation was that it would remain a secret between herself and him, and that she would work in back where no customers could see her.

Once they had shaken hands and agreed to the terms, she left the store, almost floating on air with her success. Now, as she moved toward the church, a good two miles from Mr. Lewis' shop, her focus changed to her next endeavor. One of the reasons she had left London was her intention to become part of life, not separated and hidden away from the reality that most faced day in and day out. London and her dear aunt had allowed her to be sheltered from the common people. Margaret did not want that any longer. She wanted to be part of it all.

She had felt such joy, such fulfillment, as she helped her father all summer disperse goods for those in need within his Helstone parish. In London, Aunt Shaw had shied away from the poor and those in need. Of course, she donated things and money, but she never personally interacted with anyone. Now, just as she had in Helstone, Margaret would meet the people in need. While she herself was in reduced circumstances, a significant come down from her life in London for certain, that did not mean she could not give aid to those even less fortunate than she was at present.

On her walk to the church, she did not meet anyone she knew. Indeed, she knew so few people in Milton, how could she? Perhaps the more she interacted in the town, the more she would come to know. It was also working hours at the mill, so the streets were quieter than often seen after the morning and evening bells. She did not feel lonely, though, especially since she was meeting Mrs. Donaldson whom she was coming to like very well.

Finally, the large steeple was visible not too far in the distance. She wanted to laugh at her weaknesses. Walking in this town was not an option, it was a necessity. Her feet were already paining her, bringing forth the realization she may have to change from fashionable footwear to more practical, comfortable shoes. How sad, that was, for she loved pretty shoes.

Mrs. Donaldson was walking up the stairs of the church just as Margaret reached the curb. She called out to her, and the older woman stopped and waved with a smile. She waited for Margaret to join her, and gave Margaret a hug once they met.

"I am so pleased you have come." Mrs. Donaldson continued up the stairs. "I never know for certain who will."

"I am glad to help you," Margaret said. "Did you walk here?"

"I did," Mrs. Donaldson nodded. "My husband had many calls today. One family is very ill with a stomach issue." She grimaced. "He also has two women close to delivery. He will come get me if he needs me, as I always help with births."

"You do?"

Mrs. Donaldson nodded with a smile. "I love helping new mamas with their babies. In Princeton, and other mill areas, I deliver most of the babies because my husband knows the families cannot afford his services." She leaned forward. "I do it for free because I love seeing babies." She chuckled. "I keep hoping my own children will soon provide grandchildren for me to spoil but so far they have not been very accommodating."

Mrs. Donaldson opened the heavy door of the church and led Margaret inside. A table was set up inside the door, laden with piles of food and baskets scattered all over the area.

"It seems we have enough to begin." Mrs. Donaldson removed her cloak and hung it on a hook, then reached for Margaret's coat and did the same. She rubbed her hands together and blew into them. "It certainly has gotten chilly out! My husband predicts we will see some snow tonight. He has an odd sense about such things."

"Winter is coming," Margaret said with a sigh. She was dreading the long, dark days knowing her mother would become even more despondent.

Mrs. Donaldson rested a hand on Margaret's back, drawing her from her worries, and smiled. "So, let us start, shall we?"

Margaret nodded with a smile.

"We start with an empty basket," Mrs. Donaldson said. She pointed to the pile next to the table. "I always make certain the basket is clean." She picked one up and brushed something out of it. "Then I take one of the large tea towels." She pointed to a pile of linens on a table behind them. "My maid launders and irons them weekly. Most families do return them, knowing we reuse them." She stopped for a moment, holding the linen. "These are good people, Margaret. They are very hard-working, wanting only the best for their families. They are proud, humble folk, and we must be certain to treat them as God would. We must overlook their dirty homes, their loud children, and piles of dishes. I have particular respect for the women who work all day, and still prepare meals for their family. I know I could not do it."

Margaret nodded. "I understand."

"When a woman has a baby in the back-to-back houses, I try to bring her some meals for a few days. I also have my maid come with me and we clean her home. So many women feel they must get up right away from bed and return to their housework." Mrs. Donaldson shook her head. "It is simply not healthy for her to do that."

Margaret nodded again. She had no experience with anyone giving birth, or even being with child. Aunt Shaw said there was pain involved, and logically, Margaret assumed it might last a day or so, so any help the new mother got would likely be appreciated.

"So, why do you not grab a basket and a linen and I will show you how we fill them."

Mrs. Donaldson talked her way through loading the basket, with two loaves of bread, sweets and fruit and some vegetables. There were fresh flowers, just on the edge of wilting, donated by the floral shop in town.

"We do not always know what to plan for. There will always be bread, as that is a staple. Sometimes we get meat, but usually the butcher will bring it Sunday morning and place it in baskets before services so its fresh." She smiled. "Go ahead and fill one more. I shall watch and make sure you do not forget anything!"

It was not a difficult job, certainly not a mind taxing task, but Mrs. Donaldson had a certain way she wanted the baskets done. She reminded her a bit like Aunt Shaw in terms of structure and organization, but her personality was so much kinder and more welcoming.

"That was very good, Margaret." Mrs. Donaldson smiled at her. "Perfect, in fact! Tomorrow we will complete the other baskets. More people will deliver food today or tomorrow. We start at three, sharp. I hope you can come again?"

"I plan to, yes," Margaret said. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The pain in her feet was quite real, and she was quite sure blisters were already forming on her toes. A good soak in a foot bath and she would be ready for more exercise the following day.

"Wonderful." Mrs. Donaldson patted Margaret's shoulder. "You will make quite a difference in Milton, Margaret." She patted again. "A brilliant difference. Now, let us go and get these baskets to the families so we can enjoy the rest of our evening."

Margaret grimaced. More walking to Princeton! She had hope Mrs. Donaldson would have her carriage. She sighed. If nothing else, Margaret knew she would sleep well that night.

"Why are we going this way, John?" Fanny asked as the carriage rattled toward Crampton. "The Lyceum is in the opposite direction."

"We are going to pick up Miss Hale," he answered.

"Margaret?" Fanny asked. "Why are we fetching her?"

"I was able to come by an extra ticket for this evening," he explained. "I am hoping she will join us."

"But… but what about Ann?" Fanny sputtered.

He raised his brows. "What about Miss Latimer?"

"She is certain to be at the concert tonight," Fanny answered.

"And?" He knew very well what she was suggesting, yet he wanted her to voice it herself.

"John! How can you be so difficult?" she whined. "You know very well you and Ann are as good as engaged."

"I do?" His scowl darkened. "Who has suggested this?"

She jumped. He had not meant to bark at her, but the idea of gossips wagging their tongues about him infuriated him. He was a private man, never spoke of personal issues to anyone other than their mother.

"Why… everyone believes it to be true!" Fanny cried. "The two of you are so well suited. You like her, she likes you very much."

"I do not particularly like her, Fanny," he admitted, grimacing. "I have tolerated her only because she is your dear friend. I have never had any designs in forming a more personal or intimate relationship with her."

"Truly?" she cried. "Oh dear, all this time I believed you were falling in love with her!"

He snorted. When Slickson came with an extra ticket this afternoon, he knew immediately he wanted Margaret to accompany him. It was a two-fold reasoning, he had told himself. First, it would show both Fanny and Miss Latimer that he was not interested in Miss Latimer. After her unexpected arrival at his office with lunch on Wednesday, he had known he had to act quickly, and this would prove to be the perfect solution. The second reason was quite simple, he was beginning to think Margaret Hale might indeed be someone he could form an attachment to. And, even if Miss Hale decided he was not the type of man she was seeking, he hoped he could interest her long enough to shake Ann Latimer.

"Oh, she will be quite hurt, I fear." Fanny frowned. "She had high hopes for you, John."

"I did nothing to precipitate those hopes, Fanny." It was true. He had been very careful in his behavior toward her, showing no particular, personal interest. It was Fanny that always had her at the mill house. "I was careful to never insinuate any interest in her."

Fanny sighed. "I thought perhaps she was reading a bit too much into your smiles, but the more she mentioned it, the more I began to believe it, too." She sighed. "I did not wish to break her heart. So, it is to be Margaret, then?"

He shrugged. "I would like to know her better. That is all I can say at this moment." He rarely included Fanny in any of his personal thoughts.

Fanny nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. "She would do quite well for you. But John, truly, I am just not certain she will wish to stay in Milton. Why would she when she has the opportunity to be in London."

"Not all people wish to be in London, Fanny." He paused. He remembered her comments about the vicarage and surrounding area in Helstone "I think Miss Hale would actually prefer the countryside if given a choice."

It was her turn to snort. "There is no countryside near Milton, John. I wish you luck in keeping her satisfied in this noisy, dingy town, when she could be elsewhere."

He supposed he would cross that bridge when, and if, he came to it. Obviously, his life was here, in dingy Milton, as Fanny called it. That did not mean he could not visit London if Miss Hale wished it, or even Helstone on his way to the French port town of Le Harve he visited for business twice a year. His schedule was rigid, he admitted silently, looking out the window realizing they had turned down her street. He could make exceptions. He had a fine overseer and his mother was a willing helpmate.

John jumped from the carriage and replaced his hat on his head as soon as it stalled in front of the Hale's home. Regretfully, he had not sent word ahead of time about the concert, and hoped Miss Hale would simply agree and go with him. He chuckled with a shake of his head as he climbed the short set of stairs that led to the Hale's front door. How arrogant he was! He grinned. Somehow, he knew she would come.

Dixon, their maid was quick to answer the bell. She looked surprised, and a bit wary, but stepped quickly aside and allowed his entrance.

"Mr. Hale is in the drawing room, sir." She held out her hand for his hat and coat, but he shook his head.

"I have come to call on Miss Hale," John said.

"Oh." Dixon's face wrinkled. "She is in the kitchen. You can wait with Mr. Hale or here if you wish?"

"I will visit with Mr. Hale."

He followed Dixon the short path from the door to the drawing room, and then turned inside to see Mr. Hale engaged in a book, near the fire in a bright red smoking jacket.

"Good evening, Mr. Hale," John said.

Startled, Mr. Hale looked up. "Mr. Thornton! What a surprise." He stood. "Did we have a meeting that I forgot this evening?" He chuckled. "Surely not, as fine as you are dressed, you must have plans for an evening out."

"There is a concert at the Lyceum," John explained. "I was given an extra ticket and thought Miss Hale would like to accompany my sister and me."

Mr. Hale's face lit up. "Oh, I believe she would. Last I knew she was in the kitchen baking tarts for the charity baskets with Dixon. Shall I go find her?"

John shook his head. "Your maid has gone already."

"Here I am," Miss Hale called out from the doorway.

"Good evening," John tipped his hat and smiled. She looked flushed and surprised. "I must apologize for the short… well, no notice… but I found myself with an extra ticket for the concert at the Lyceum this evening and thought you might like to come with Fanny and me?"

"Oh!" She expelled a big rush of breath. "How kind of you to think of me, Mr. Thornton. Erm… yes, I would like to go along." She glanced down at her dress and then at him. "Ah… give me a few moments so I might change?"

He nodded. "As quick as you can be, please?" He followed her into the hallway, grinning as she scurried up the stairs. "Miss Hale?"

She turned, looking flustered.

He turned his expression serious. "Be certain to wear shoes. It has begun to snow and you will be rather chilly without them."

She looked down at her feet as if she just realized she was barefoot and looked at him, her face as red as a cherry. "I shall." It came out as a squeak.

He smiled then, and waited until she was at the top of the stairs and he called to her again.

When she turned, a huge frown on her face, he chuckled. "I am jesting with you. I do have a bit of a sense of humor despite rumors otherwise."

She shook her head and proceeded down the upstairs hallway. Dixon met her at what he thought was likely her bedroom door and it closed quickly. Lord, he was pleased. He knew she would come. He went back to visit with Mr. Hale while he waited.

"Margaret is generally fast getting ready. I never know how she does it, but sometimes she even beats me getting ready on Sundays for services." He grinned. "Would you would like to sit?"

He was getting warm, should have removed his overcoat when he had the chance. "No, thank you. I imagine I will be sitting quite some time at the concert." He grinned.

"Indeed. I must thank you for thinking of Margaret," Mr. Hale told him. "She will enjoy the music."

"I go only to escort Fanny," John admitted. "Some performances are worthwhile… others not as much." He shrugged. "I think she goes to socialize more than anything. I look forward to the day she weds and I no longer have to escort her."

"Has she a beau?" Mr. Hale asked.

John shook his head. "No. Not that she has introduced me to. She would tell my mother before me."

"That is the way with women," Mr. Hale agreed.

John thought to ask about Mrs. Hale, but believed that was still a sore topic with the family. In truth, John was surprised Mrs. Hale was not sitting with her husband in their drawing room. Would a wife not wish to spend evening hours with her husband? John knew Mr. Hale tutored most of the day, leaving only his evenings free for family time.

"Mr. Bell is in town," Mr. Hale said. "He will be dining with us tomorrow. You are welcome to join us."

John shook his head. "I would be pleased to, but Saturdays are very busy days at the mill. I must pass out the employee pay and attempt to prepare the books for the upcoming week. That is the only way I am able to take Sundays off. I do thank you for the offer."

"I am not certain how long Adam will stay this time," Mr. Hale said. "I suppose he will go to the Harvest ball and then return to Oxford."

"That is where you met?" John asked.

Mr. Hale nodded. "Indeed." He smiled. "He has been my dearest friend since I first arrived there. I had been raised in a very fine home, but was not nearly as wealthy as the other men studying there. I relied on my brains to find success."

"It sounds as though you and I faced a similar path. Oddly, it was Mr. Bell who served as mentor to both of us, hm?"

Mr. Hale chuckled and then nodded. "Two completely different paths, John, yet it appears we have turned out rather well."

"Mr. Bell is a good man. He has always been very fair." He laughed. "My mother finds him rather… flamboyant." John was being kind with that description. In truth his mother found the man's behavior chivalrous, but to the extreme.

"I do believe I hear her coming." Mr. Hale stood quickly and guided John toward the doorway. "I never grow tired of watching a beautiful woman walk down a staircase toward me. There is something exceptionally pleasing and almost magical knowing that woman has prepared herself just to be with you."

John frowned. Had he ever waited for a woman at the bottom of the staircase? His sister and mother, perhaps, but he had never experienced any exceptional pleasure in the deed. If anything, it irritated him that he was forced to wait for them to complete their preparations. He and Mr. Hale reached the bottom of the staircase just as Miss Hale was at the halfway point. She met his gaze with a grin and then John understood Mr. Hale's experience. Lord, she did look exceptional, and Mr. Hale having placed it in his mind, he realized she had dressed with care to be at his side.

"Shall I do, Mr. Thornton?" she asked quietly when she reached the last step and they were just about at eye level.

"Yes." His voice sounded strained. Oh yes, she would do quite well.

Dressed in a deep blue satin gown, fitted tight through the bodice with only a slight bell to the skirt, Miss Hale looked spectacular. She had redressed her hair and added some understated jewelry at her ears and neck. He knew she was a lovely woman, but this night, dressed so fine, she looked remarkable.

"Miss Margaret, your cloak!" Dixon rushed down the stairs carrying a muted green velvet cape, lined with fur.

Margaret turned from his gaze and looked at her maid to reach for it. John was faster, grabbing the soft garment and wrapping it around her shoulders. She stepped off the last stair and pulled on her gloves.

"I hope I did not take too long?" she asked him.

"Not at all," he said. His feet felt as if they were set in cement. He just wanted to stand there and stare at her.

She walked to her father and kissed his cheek. "Good night, Papa."

He held out his hand to John and wished them a fun evening.

She led them to the door and John quickly opened it, allowing her to proceed him. She pulled the hood of the cloak over her head as she stepped out the door. She giggled in pleasure and held out her hand, catching the large snowflakes that were floating silently from the sky.

It made him smile, seeing the pleasure of simple snowflakes light up her face. "You like snow?" His voice came out in a bare whisper.

She nodded. "It makes everything so perfect, so clean. Like people, no two snowflakes are exactly alike, or so I have been told." She looked up at him when they reached the bottom of the stairs and smiled. "Thank you for bringing me along this evening."

"It is my pleasure, Miss Hale."

He walked forward and opened the carriage door for her. He held out his hand to help her climb aboard. This would be their first carriage ride together, he realized. He followed her inside, and sat across from the two ladies. He could not remove his eyes from her, nor could he stop his racing heart.

Fanny quickly commented on the quality of the cloak Margaret wore, petting the coat. Margaret laughed, explaining it had been a Christmas gift the year before from her aunt.

"Can you speak Italian?" Fanny asked. "The concert tonight is sung in all Italian." She rolled her eyes.

"I can speak a little," Margaret admitted.

John was not surprised. He thought she was likely far more accomplished than any woman he had ever met. She was humble, though, never bragged about her abilities.

"I suppose we could simply make up words as they sing and make it mean anything we wish." She looked at him and laughed. Turning back to Fanny she commented, "My cousin Edith and I would do that sometimes, and it almost became more entertaining than had we known the actual words."

Fanny snorted. "I never thought to do that."

"Try tonight," Margaret suggested. "Watch the face of the singer and imagine what words you think he is singing. Make it as silly as you can. But do not laugh as he may become offended."

John listened silently, thinking how clever Margaret was.

"I have sat through many horrible performances, Fanny," Margaret said. "I learned early that if I could force myself to smile, no one would know just how disgusted I was."

"I shall take your advice, Margaret." Fanny nodded. "We will talk about it on the ride home and see who comes up with the better ideas." Fanny giggled

"You must not tell anyone else, though." Margaret patted Fanny's hand. "Let this be our secret." She turned and winked at John.


End file.
